


I will not ask you, neither should you

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Ambiguous genetalia, An Orgy of Aziraphales, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley's Bodyswap (Good Omens), Bathtubs, Blow Jobs, Brief appearance of Gabriel and Beelzebub, Bruises, But technically they're just divinity, Catching up on a few tags right here at the end, Celestial Trueforms, Chains, Clones, Cock Rings, Coming Untouched, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has Two Penises (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Moustache (Good Omens), Crowley's Tattoo (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Deepthroating, Deleted Scene: Aziraphale's Bookshop 1800 (Good Omens), Divinity Kink, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Edgeplay, Emotionally Significant Couch, Emotionally Significant Sofas, Episode: s01e01 In the Beginning, Except it's an erogenous zone, Exhibitionism, Experienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/M, Far-Off Future, Finger Sucking, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Foot Massage, Hair Washing, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Hands, Holding Hands, Humiliation, Hypnotism, In all of these, Ineffable Tutors (Good Omens), Intercrural Sex, Just a bit of roughhousing, Kinktober 2020, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Men Crying, Metaphysical Sex, Mirror Sex, Naga Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Oral Fixation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outdoor Sex, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Post-Scene: Paris 1793 (Good Omens), Post-Scene: St James's Park 1862 (Good Omens), Praise Kink, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Scene: Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC (Good Omens), Scene: Kingdom of Wessex 537 AD (Good Omens), Scene: Rome 41 AD (Good Omens), Scene: Soho 1967 (Good Omens), Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Signaling, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tentacles, The statue in Crowley's flat, Vaginal Fingering, Virgin Crowley, Wet Dream, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wrestling, ambiguous genitalia, and it's a front, assume pre-established consent, but like for demons, but nothing sexy happens during it, but only slightly - Freeform, foot washing, ripped clothes, shouldn't we all die so lucky?, this last fill is just unrepentant fluff, very mild panic, y'all know I ain't like that, y'all should know what to expect here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 21,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: Vignettes for kinktober prompt fills.  All of them written in 20 minutes or less in Discord sprints.Aziraphale and Crowley through the ages, experimenting and learning with each other.Notes on specific fills at the beginning of each chapter.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Mr Cortese/Mr Harrison (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Mr. Cortese
Comments: 430
Kudos: 245





	1. Sex Toys - Modern Times

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! I'm doing this apparently >_> bit late but I'm here lol.
> 
> My dear friend doorwaytoparadise assigned time periods to a kinktober prompt list and, as with everything they do, their opinion is correct and so I'm writing fic off of them xD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes care of his demon in a very special way
> 
> Prompt: Sex Toys  
> Specific Tags:  
> Ambiguous genitalia, gentle dom Aziraphale, remote-controlled sex toys

“What was that, darling?”

“I said - _gah!”_

Crowley can no longer tell which way is up or which way is down; brought to the edge and left to fall back again, over and over.Aziraphale sits off to the side, unaffected and unbothered, twirling the remote control through his fingers.Turning the speed of the vibrating toy up or down depending on his whim.

It’s good like this, this loss of control.Crowley relishes it.Loves having Aziraphale in charge of things, loves just letting go and letting his angel take care of him.It’s been so easy since the world failed to end to fall into this companionship, something they both wanted for so long.

And Aziraphale is adamant, wants to be a nurturer, a caretaker.He wants to be the steward of Crowley’s comfort and happiness.Principalities are like that — their goal is to take care, to guard.When Crowley had broached this subject with him, he’d expected pushback.But Aziraphale had just smiled and taken his hand.Said he’d be happy to.After everything Crowley had done for him over the years, Aziraphale wanted to give back and make up for lost time.

Never mind that there was nothing to make up for, never was.Crowley’s love has never come with a condition, never with demands or expectations.But neither has Aziraphale’s.And sometimes it’s nice to just fall apart.

Crowley’s breath hitches as Aziraphale increases the speed, his hands lay stock still at his sides.Just like he’s been told to do.

“How is it, love?”Aziraphale asks and Crowley can see how he’s coming apart in his own ways.The dilation of his pupils, the flush of red on the tips of his ears.The waver in his voice, cracking on the love that’s stuck in his throat.When you know someone as long as Crowley has known Aziraphale, you pick up on all of it.

The toy’s speed quickens and Crowley’s back arches, a wanton moan escaping his lips as the toy pulses against the most sensitive part of him.“Love you, angel,” he gasps as he grips the sheets, as he writhes this way and that under the toys ministrations and Aziraphale’s careful gaze.

“That’s not an answer, my darling,” Aziraphale says softly, kneeling beside him on the bed, brushing sweat-soaked hair off of his forehead, returning the ‘I-love-you’ with his touch instead of his voice.The gesture is so gentle that Crowley feels he might break.

“S’ wonderful, Aziraphale,” Crowley says, awestruck by his angel above him.Even now, even after all this time.Aziraphale smiles at him, clicks the button once more.Aziraphale’s name falls from Crowley’s mouth as he reaches his climax, and the angel’s soft lips capture it off of his tongue.


	2. Choking/Deepthroating - Globe Theatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a private (for them) box at the Globe, Crowley shows his appreciation on his knees
> 
> Prompt: Choking/Deepthroat  
> Specific Tags:  
> Blow jobs, Deepthroating, Angst, Pining while Fucking

Soft and firm fingers thread through his long red hair, gripping tightly, pulling in a deliciously painful way.Aziraphale pushes into him deeper and Crowley is thankful that he doesn’t need to breathe.Doesn’t need to move.He can stay here, on his knees on the rough-hewn wood of the spectator box and feel Aziraphale’s cock stretching his throat.

He swallows, muscles working around Aziraphale’s length.It earns a rake of nails across his scalp.Pinpricks of pleasure and pain along the curve of his skull.

 _Use me_ , he thinks but doesn’t say.

They don’t talk about this, there aren’t words yet.Just a desire to be filled.It’s enough, Crowley tells himself, to give his beautiful and hedonistic angel pleasure when he wants it.It will have to be enough.

Aziraphale has one hand in his hair, gripping it tight.The other cups his cheek, a gentle touch and a caress of a thumb across a sharp cheekbone.Crowley could almost mistake it for love —in the singular sense— but that’s not what angels are meant for.Angels are meant for an all-encompassing love of all things; and Crowley supposes that he should be grateful to be counted amongst all creation.Not many angels would count a demon among that.

He looks up at Aziraphale as he swallows again, expecting to see him lost in pleasure, eyes closed and head thrown back.Instead his yellow eyes meet storm grey ones, meet a face tinging a particularly delectable shade of pink.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Crowley covers the hand on his cheek with his own. _I love you_ rattles around in his brain, sticks in his throat, held there by Aziraphale himself.He’s been choking on the words for so long, now isn’t any different. 

But the look on Aziraphale’s face, the furrow of his brow, there’s something there that Crowley hadn’t noticed before.He slots his fingers between Aziraphale’s, marveling at how they fit together.Two halves of one soul, isn’t that what the old philosophers used to say?Back in their symposiums where he and Aziraphale would sit side by side, a faint brush of their little fingers together where they rested on the stone benches.Enough to mean something, not enough to mean anything.

Crowley grips Aziraphale’s hand, moves it to his throat.Wants the angel to feel himself move in Crowley, the way he’s always moved in Crowley’s heart, in what’s left of his soul.

“Crowley…” his name falls soft from soft lips, two blushing pilgrims that ready stand, but that Crowley will never know the taste of.He takes the salt of Aziraphale instead, swallows it down as Aziraphale finds his release. 

Swallows down the words and the love and all of it, way down inside of him into a box marked ‘someday’.


	3. Degradation - Tutors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Harrison has made a calculated error, Mr. Cortese corrects him
> 
> Prompt: Degradation  
> Specific Tags:  
> Intercrural, Degradation

Chalk dust fills Crowley’s nostrils as his hand grapples for purchase against the smooth surface of the blackboard.In his other, a piece of chalk that should’ve snapped under his grip long ago. 

“That’s it,” Aziraphale growls into the curve of his neck, leaving bite marks with his teeth and burn marks with his beard.His hands grip Crowley’s skinny hips tight enough to bruise and Crowley moans at the sensation of it all.“Such a wanton thing, aren’t you, Mr. Harrison?Needful and greedy, absolutely desperate for me.”

Aziraphale’s stiff and sturdy cock slides between his thighs, catches along the underside of his own, aching with his own arousal.It’s a desperate game, this one, with their trousers ‘round their ankles, shirts rumpled.Crowley’s hand shakes where he presses the chalk to the board as Aziraphale slides against him, fucking himself on Crowley’s lean thighs and not giving him what he really wants.

“Go on then, _demon_ , you aren’t writing your lines.”

“R-right…” He scrapes the chalk along the board, lines and curves of letters — his punishment for earlier, when he’d shown up early and interrupted Aziraphale’s lesson.He leans against the board, pushed and held their by Aziraphale’s strong weight and soft lips, by the well-manicured nails that scrape through his chest hair under his shirt.Possessive and demanding all at the same time.

Aziraphale has a way of making slow feel so desperate, with the breathy moans against Crowley’s skin, the slight whine as his cock slides against the muscle of Crowley’s legs, the absolute abandon with which he sucks bruises into Crowley’s neck and shoulder.The scrape of the chalk a perfect harmony with their own heavy breathing; the chalkboard’s tilt threatening to topple them both over if they aren’t careful. 

“Very good,” Aziraphale says and Crowley winces, a mix of pleasure and pain at being called this.Aziraphale inspects his lines.Over and over he’s been made to write _‘I am a kind and lovely demon, I am nice and I am worthy’._

Humiliating, degrading, against everything Crowley’s core being is.But for Aziraphale, he can be these things.

Aziraphale hums in approval, slotting his fingers between Crowley’s, letting the chalk fall to the wood floor with a noise far louder than it should be in the silence of this study.Aziraphale presses into him with his whole body, linking their hands tightly, sliding them through the chalk-written lines and smearing the words as he chases his release.

He comes with a shout, spilling out and painting the chalkboard.Crowley wants to sob at the feeling of Aziraphale’s spend between his legs.He doesn’t get long, as Aziraphale spins him around, pinning his back to the chalkboard this time before sinking to his knees.

“Well, my dear, I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Aziraphale says, trying to sound stern but missing the mark and landing decidedly in horribly besotted territory, mouth barely an inch from Crowley’s aching cock.“Now then, let me show you what happens to _kind_ and _wonderful_ demons who dare to bring pastries to me during class time.”

Aziraphale takes Crowley’s cock in his mouth, and Crowley does his level best to pay attention to the lesson at hand.


	4. Lingerie - Modern Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Had a bracket left in here and I had to do _research_ to fix it so apologies for the second email to my peeps xD )
> 
> Crowley calls Aziraphale up at the shop, Aziraphale decides he should close early.
> 
> Prompt: Lingerie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since I deleted this chapter and reuploaded it I wanna say a quick thank you <3 <3 to quefish and confirmed_bachelorette who's comments got yeeted into the void <3 I saw them and they are in my email and I love you both xD but now the brackets are fixed lol

Aziraphale’s footsteps echo through the flat, the solid tones of concrete somehow amplified by the uncanny stillness of everything.Crowley had been adamant that Aziraphale come by after he closed up shop for the day.His voice had been breathy and low over the phone line, had elicited a blush in the angel’s cheeks that Aziraphale could only hope he hid well enough from the scant few customers in the shop at the time.

But he was an angel of infinite patience and fortitude in the face of the wiles of evil one.Perfectly capable of thwarting any temptation attempts against his person.He could stand strong in the face of any given adversity, especially from his wily adversary.

So of course, he’d closed up shop ten minutes after the call and rushed to Crowley’s Mayfair flat.

There’s a low and twinkling light making patterns on the cold concrete, and the flat is unusually dark for this early in the evening.But things have always bent to what Crowley intends them to be.Aziraphale follows the flickering light past the plant room, where the plants are surprisingly calm, and down the hall.Past the wrestling statue and to the source, Crowley’s bedroom.

“Crowley, dear, are you in here?”Aziraphale asks as he pushes the door open slowly.His breath catches at the sight before him.

There are candles dotting all over the room (electric, of course, after certain events in the lead up to the not-end-of-the-world), and Crowley is laid out on black satin sheets.He’s not nude, that would be simple.No, he’s far too tantalizing for words and Aziraphale feels is mouth start to water.

Very simple white lace, clearly vintage, adorns his dear demon’s body.Intricate flowers and stitching just barely cover Crowley’s already straining cock.Dots of precome bead along the lacework, as though just the thought of Aziraphale finding him here like this was enough to work him into a state.He has on a white lace robe, open just enough to give a tantalizing tease of crimson chest hair.The long sleeves pearlescent over pale skin, the ties twined like snakes at his sides. 

“Oh…oh good _lord_.”

“Like what you see, angel?” Crowley asks in a heady voice.He wiggles his hips just a bit and Aziraphale feels his own cock twitch in response.“Closed up early, then?”

“I’d heard there was demonic activity in the area…” Aziraphale peels his coat off his shoulders, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor.It will be fine, he has much more important things to tend to as he approaches the edge of the bed.“And, you know, I can’t let that stand.”

He crawls up the bed over Crowley’s body, hands skating along the delicate fabric, feeling the texture of it under his hands as he presses his lips to the hard line of Crowley’s cock.He drags his lips and teeth over the plane of Crowley’s stomach, relishes feeling the demon’s breath hitch and pulse jump under him.

“Is — _hnn—_ that so?”

“Yes, I daresay, my darling,” Aziraphale asks a breath away from Crowley’s lips, “I could very well be tied up in thwarting the rest of the day.”

“Oh, what a hardship,” Crowley says with a crooked and broken grin.

“Quite,” Aziraphale says, kissing him deeply. 

The bookshop doesn’t open again until two days later.


	5. Oral Fixation - 1970s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing some fondue in the 1970s
> 
> Prompt: Oral Fixation  
> Specific Tags:  
> Finger sucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still trying to catch up on these >_> we're getting there though xD

“Don’t understand what the Swiss are on about with this one, angel,” Crowley says as he smooths his mustache.Wretched thing, that, but he enjoys having it.Has _fun_ with it, so Aziraphale doesn’t mind it much.

“It’s just bread and melted cheese, dear.Meant to help drive business to their farms, a very holy endeavor for me, all in all.”

Despite his enthusiasm, Aziraphale also just stares at the little ceramic pot and the strange little forks.He’d meticulously cubed up a nice French loaf, simmered the white wine and the garlic, melted the Swiss and the Emmentaler, just as the directions told him.Different, to be sure, but if Crowley can try new things once in a while, why can’t he? 

He takes one of the forks and spears a particularly crusty cube of bread, dips it into the cheese.Aziraphale watches Crowley watch him as he pops it into his mouth.The smooth cheese is tangy and warm on his tongue, the bread soft and chewy.He moans in appreciation, eyes closed and head back.

Aziraphale has always loved a good culinary creation.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Crowley staring.His head is propped on his chin and he’s smiling.Not his usual forced smile, but a small thing, just a vague upturn of lips.The mustache does a good job of hiding it, but doesn’t completely obscure it.

“What is it?”

“You’ve got just— well, you’ve got a bit…” Crowley shakes his head, resigning himself to action instead of speech.He reaches out, swipes his thumb just under Aziraphale’s lip, “Got a bit of cheese…on your face.”

There’s a crystalized moment here between them, one that they’ve had before.Crowley has reached out, and all Aziraphale need do is reach back, and this night could go on much longer.They don’t name it, and Crowley never pushes.Only ever offers, only continues if Aziraphale wants.

Suddenly, Aziraphale is feeling a much different kind of hunger.

He reaches out, wraps his hand around Crowley’s wrist softly and gently.He takes Crowley’s thumb into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the pad of it, enjoying the smooth taste of Appenzeller as it mingles with the salt of Crowley’s skin.His eyes stay fixed on Crowley’s face, unwavering and unmoving.Even in the dim of the shop and behind those dark glasses, Aziraphale can see them flutter closed as he swirls his tongue around Crowley’s thumb before letting him pull out with a _pop_.

“Would you like to try some, dear?” He asks softly; a secret, stolen moment in a decade of excess.

“Yes, please, angel,” Crowley practically whines at him. 

Filled only with thoughts of those lips and that wonderful tongue that can do such unusual things, Aziraphale dips a finger into the cooling cheese, swirls it around before offering it towards Crowley.

He takes Aziraphale’s wrist in both of his hands, moans as he threads his tongue through Aziraphale’s fingers.Sucking the one into his mouth, moaning around it.It makes Aziraphale’s toes tingle and curl in his shoes, makes a shiver run up his spine as Crowley licks every last bit of the fondue from his finger.His golden eyes are wide and glimmering in the dark of the shop, his thick mustache scratches along Aziraphale’s knuckles.

Aziraphale leans in, kisses him deeply once he’s finished, before taking his hand and leading him up the spiral staircase.

The fondue, left behind and forgotten, goes cold.But they have much more important things to worry about.


	6. Masturbation/Prostate Stimulation - 1862

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their fight, Aziraphale and Crowley find their own way to take the edge off
> 
> Prompt: Masturbation/Prostate Stimulation  
> Specific Tags:  
> Angst, Crying While Masturbating, Vintage Dildos

Aziraphale’s back arches on the Chesterfield sofa as he strokes himself off slow.Stupid demon, stupid fraternizing, stupid _all of it_.Holy water, of all the things.The vitriol and the anger spit out between them, when there could be better things.

There could be meetings of tongues and lips and skin on skin.The love that rolls off of Crowley in waves is palpable and all encompassing, and had grown steady since the early days in Eden, taken on it’s own clarity in Rome.

He imagines, as precome dribbles onto his fist, that Crowley is above him.All sharp edges and smirking expressions.He can see, clear as day, Crowley above him, sinking down onto him.Letting Aziraphale fill him up, split him apart.

Crowley would beg for it, Aziraphale is sure.Would sing his praises more beautifully than any choir.Aziraphale would coast his hands over the plane of Crowley’s stomach, would grip his hips tight and set the rhythm of them.Two lovers moving in tandem, chasing pleasure in each other. 

His mind is filled with the sight of Crowley coming untouched as he comes; his spend spilling over his hand just as tears spill down his cheeks.

Holy water.A way out.

A way to be out of Aziraphale’s life for good.

And where is the meaning in living a life alone when the one you love is gone?

* * *

Crowley hisses and grips the headboard as he edges the leather dildo in further, grips the wood tight enough it starts to buckle.Tears sting at the corner of his eyes as he works himself open, rubbing the oiled leather against the spot in him that makes his breath hitch.

Crowley has a very good imagination for a demon; most other demons lack that.It’s not hard for him to imagine a sturdy weight against his back and a strong hand around his throat, tilting his head back as bruises are sucked into his neck.The bruises themselves come into being, purple and deep on his skin despite the lack of another person in the room.

Imagination is a powerful thing.

He hears whispered words, words of comfort and of understanding. _I know you would never leave me, I’ve always wanted you this way, please let me love you, if only for a little while._ Words whispered in an angelic timbre, into the skin of him as he edges the dildo out and in.

He comes with an angel’s name on his lips, and tears on his face.The headboard is splintered beneath his hands, an utter ruin just like him.

Holy water, that’s all he wanted.

A means of protection, for the both of them, just in case.

Because where is the meaning in living if the one you love is in danger?


	7. Tentacles - 6006AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the edge of the universe, an angel and a demon embrace.
> 
> Prompt: Tentacles  
> Specific Tags:  
> Non-explicit depictions of sex, Trueforms, Divinity tentacles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dedicating this chapter to my dear friend Cassieoh <3<3

On the far edge of the galaxy, in what would be the year 6006AD, two beings circle each other. 

This, in and of itself, is nothing new.They have been circling each other before time began, even if they cannot remember.The starmaker and the principality, who gave up everything of Heaven and Hell to gain everything that Earth and their own side could give them.

The Earth is long gone, has been for quite some time now.They don’t remember, time has no meaning in the expanse of space.

Human bodies are of no use to them anymore.Nor are bookshops or Bentley’s, though they look back on them just as fondly, along with the humans.They are, of course, fine.Resilient things, the human race, went off into the stars and spread out far beyond even Her comprehension.

The angel and the demon had chosen to stay, to usher the Earth into her final days, and thus here they are.True forms brilliant and glowing in the dark expanse.The angel, a collection of wheels and eyes, glowing light from within that holds multitudes in dimensions that you, dear reader, would not be able to comprehend.The demon, a many winged serpent, stretching out longer than could ever be sustainable by any Earth-bound creature.Black scales glinting only faintly with the glow of starlight, but two bright yellow eyes that put Rigil Kentaurus to shame.

They entwine with each other, the angel’s tendrils of glowing divinity wrapping around the serpent as a lover - the serpent’s coils trailing between the rings.The serpent offers himself up to the angel, in praise and supplication.The divinity binds and caresses him, strokes along his scales, along his very soul as he shudders.

_Do you remember how this used to be, my darling?_

_As though I could ever forget, angel._

_It is nice this way, my beautiful serpent, let go for me._

_Ah!—Always, Aziraphale, I love you._

_And until the very end, I you, my only._

The serpent writhes and convulses as the divinity wraps him tighter, touching him in ways no being unlike themselves could ever understand.Breaking him down to the very atoms as he shakes apart, filled with the grace of Her brightest angel.

Nebulae spark into being, new ones that the humans will name someday.Stars created by the starmaker’s mind, bright and shining gold — to match the serpent’s eyes, to match the angel’s rings.

_I love you._

A whispered and shared thought between the two beings, completely in sync.

Older than the universe, and older than time.

They drift through the abyss, fully in love and happy, on their way to Alpha Centauri.


	8. Bondage - Wessex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale have a little game going.
> 
> Prompt: Bondage  
> Specific Tags:  
> Rope Bondage

Crowley pulls at the ropes binding his wrists, kicks his feet to try to loosen the ones round his ankles.He’s tied up like some common…well… some common something-or-other, and frankly it’s embarrassing.

The knights had found him, overpowered him, and delivered him to Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round.Dropped him off in the tent, left to be found writhing in the dirt on his belly like the serpent he is.And he’d really, _really_ like to get out of this before Aziraphale gets back.

“Oh dear, they did tie you up good, didn’t they, dear boy?”

Crowley groans and collapses, stops struggling against his bonds.He’s caught anyway, the game is up.He rolls onto his side and looks towards the flap on the tent.Aziraphale is _smirking_ , of all the nonsense, very unangelic of him.The fading sunlight catches his hair, lights it up like a halo.A holy light befitting a holy warrior of God (or, in this case, of Arthur). His armor is gone, down to just his breeches and tunic.It’s almost risqué, seeing him like this.

“Gallahad is a _prick_ ,” Crowley snarls towards him, “Knots are too tight, lose a hand or a foot this way if I were a human.”

“Well, darling, it’s a good thing you’re not.”Aziraphale picks him up as though he weighs nothing and Crowley tries his damndest not to swoon as Aziraphale throws him over his shoulder.

“Do I even weigh anything to you?”

“Like a bag of feathers, really.I’ve carried swords heavier than you.”

Crowley decidedly does _not_ think about that.Doesn’t think about the brandishing of swords or the giving away of swords or sinking feelings in the pit of his stomach that signaled ‘ _oh no, I’m stuck with you now, I’ll follow you anywhere you fussy angel’_ on the day they first met.

Aziraphale tosses him onto his pile of furs, smiles with mischief in his eyes as Crowley bounces slightly.

“You could warn a demon, you know, before you just go tossing them aroun—“

He’s silenced by holy lips on his, just a tingle of divinity as Aziraphale licks into his mouth recklessly.Crowley moans and strains against his bonds once again, wanting to touch or to hold or to fist his hands into that tunic and rip it apart.His embarrassment at being caught vanishes in the wake of Aziraphale’s affection, replaced by a steady wave of arousal and want.

“Darling, you know that isn’t the game.” Aziraphale speaks the words into the skin of Crowley’s neck, nipping and biting as he works his way down.Aziraphale’s hands coast under Crowley’s tunic, soft and firm fingers finding their home along his ribcage, holding him tight and steady as Aziraphale kisses and bites affection into Crowley’s skin.“I caught you, that makes you mine tonight, just like we agreed.”

“Hrnk, angel, please,” Crowley begs as he rolls his hips, trying to find friction.Aziraphale just smiles at him as he works loose the ties of Crowley’s breeches.

“Always, my darling, my only,” Aziraphale says as he slides down Crowley’s body, breath warm against Crowley’s straining cock, “I do expect to hear you singing my praises until dawn, that’s my spoils as the winner.”

“Bastar— _Angel!”_ Crowley cries out as Aziraphale takes him into his mouth. And sing praises Crowley does, far into the early hours.This is, by far, Crowley’s favorite game that they play.


	9. Crying - 1967

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley sits in his Bentley, in the neon-lit streets of Soho, and holds a thermos in his hands
> 
> Prompt: Crying  
> Specific Tags:  
> This one is actually G rated folks idk it snuck in there; we'll get back to the smut next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp this one isn't a kink but come find me on Tumblr (moveslikebucky) and let me give you my 50 slide bullet point presentation on how "You go too fast for me" is a confession and Crowley would've been ecstatic to hear it because I will push this agenda at any given time.

Crowley watches Aziraphale get out of the Bentley, into the neon soaked night.The thermos in his hands tingles with residual holy energy, the mark of the water inside being indeed the Holiest (with a capital H).His hands shake of their own accord, trembling around the thermos as he sets it aside.

A picnic.

The Ritz.

A someday.

Aziraphale is in his life, Aziraphale _wants_ to be in his life, wants a someday.

There’s a salt-sting at the corner of Crowley’s eyes, a shuddering breath that leaves his chest.Like a hole inside of him ripping open.All he can do is sit and let it tear him apart.Let the tears fall and track down his cheeks as he swipes at them uselessly, as he sucks in big, gulping breaths of air that he doesn’t even need, but that feels so extremely vital at the moment.He can still smell the angel’s cologne, knows what it smells like and would know it anywhere.Bergamot and sandalwood, a wisp of a shadow left by Aziraphale surrounding his senses from the passenger seat.

Someday.

Crowley wrenches his glasses off his face, flings them into the back before burying his head in his hands.Gasping sobs wrenching their way out of his chest as he curls in on himself.Sobs of _relief._ Six thousand years, nearabouts.He’s not pushed, he’s not taken more than was given, content to exist in Aziraphale’s light and stand by him as his friend, as his companion, as his ‘wily adversary’, as whatever Aziraphale would have him be.

 _I won’t have you risking your life_ sounds a lot like “I miss you”.

 _Don’t go unscrewing the cap_ sounds a lot like “I care about you”.

And as his sobs turn to laughter, Crowley lets one more thought pass through his mind.A beautiful and aching thought of picnics and dinners and somedays.

Because, as it stands…

 _You go too fast for me_ sounds an awful lot like “I love you”.


	10. Feet - 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale heals Crowley's feet, there are side effects
> 
> Prompt: Feet  
> Specific Tags:  
> Divinity Kink, Coming Untouched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't intend for this chapter to be the longest, but I wasn't about to write a typical foot kink cuz I just don't jive with it, squicks me out, but I wanted to try to fill this one anyway!
> 
> So have this very roundabout use of feet for Divinity Kink purposes instead.
> 
> Also the attempt to keep things close to 500 went out the window with this one, but I think it needed the communication for it to work properly.
> 
> Also number 10, I'm almost caught up! Only 6 days behind now xD We'll see if I can catch it.

“Crowley if you don’t sit _still_ —” Aziraphale glowers at Crowley as he’s splashed with lukewarm water for the fifth time this evening at least.He’d meant it as a kind gesture, after Crowley had so selflessly burst into the church.He’d been like a hero from one of Aziraphale’s novels, swooping in and sweeping him off his feet and saving his books, with no regard for his own safety, or his own feet.

The burns are deep, scarring the black scales that creep along Crowley’s feet.Marring them and making them sensitive.It breaks his heart that Crowley is in pain; and the implications of Crowley enduring that pain for _him_ , for no other reason to keep him safe and here, on Earth, aren’t lost on him.

Aziraphale has been in love for a very long time; but knowing that Crowley feels the same…that’s a different story.It’s a heady feeling, one that soaks down his spine.Now that he knows the miasma of love that’s followed him for centuries has a source, he wonders how he ever missed it.

Time, it seems, really does make fools of us all.

He’d washed Crowley’s feet in the wash basin, watched as the demon blushed at him and stammered out protests about an angel being on his knees.Aziraphale had just tutted at him as he carefully patted Crowley’s wounded feet down with a washcloth, cleaning the wounds to promote better healing. 

But then he’d gotten the iodine, and he was very much regretting his kindhearted nature.

“S’not my fault it _hurts_ , Aziraphale!”

“Yes it hurts _now_ but it’s for the best!”

Crowley just snarls, crosses his arms and sulks like a petulant child as Aziraphale rolls his eyes.And really, there are easier ways to do things.But these ways can have side effects.

“I can heal them quicker, but there is a tradeoff.”

“I don’t care what you do just get that shit away from me!” Crowley growls, pointing towards the brown glass bottle.Aziraphale breathes in deeply and gathers himself.

“Crowley, I can heal you with my miracles, but there is a prospect of side effects.Either it will hurt _worse_ , in which case we switch back to the human way, or…”Aziraphale trails off, fidgeting with his ring.He’d had bluster when he started but it’s run out in the face of…well…the possibilities.

“Or what?”

“Or,” Aziraphale swallows thickly, mouth suddenly very dry, “Or, you’ll experience divine ecstasy, and all the trappings that come with it.Quite literally, I might add.Happens with the humans sometimes, on particularly nasty wounds.That much divinity, coursing through their veins…well… can lead to sudden arousal and a sudden…well… _sating_ of that arousal, as it were—“

“You’re worried if you heal my feet I’m going to come in my trousers?”

“Well you don’t have to be crass about it but yes, that’s exactly what I’m worried about.”Aziraphale can feel how heat rising in his cheeks but hopes that Crowley doesn’t notice.

“S’alright then, if it does.”

“You…you’re sure?”

“Eh, wouldn’t be the worst fuck I’ve had, wouldn’t even be one.Side effect of the corporations, really.”

Aziraphale doesn’t know how Crowley can be so nonchalant about this, given his feelings that Aziraphale is now painfully aware of.Is Crowley aware of Aziraphale’s own?Or does he not know, after all this time?Can demons feel love like angels can?

“Alright, dear boy, if you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m bloody sure, hurts like shit!” Crowley shouts before his face softens into something different, something a bit more concerned.“That is, I mean, if you’re alright with it, of course.Only if you want to.”

There’s something underneath the words, something without voice.Aziraphale takes a deep breath and takes one of Crowley’s feet into his hands.He’d told him to, and Aziraphale will gladly heal him.

He focuses on his fingers, on threading light through the tips of them as he massages divinity into the arch of Crowley’s foot.He swipes his hands softly over the instep and the bridge, notices Crowley trembling.He looks up at him, sees his eyes blown wide, trousers tented already, and pauses.Crowley is gripping the arm of the couch like a lifeline with one hand, the other is fisted in his mouth. 

“No, angel, don’t stop,” Crowley says on shaky breaths as his hips thrust upwards, and so Aziraphale doesn’t stop.The burns fall away in the wake of his hands, he pours all of his love into this gesture, into this healing.He locks eyes with Crowley, blows the cool air of a healing miracle over his foot through pursed lips.As the last burn scars fade and the scales recede, Crowley comes with a shout before toppling to the floor, knocking over the basin of water and landing directly on top of Aziraphale.

“You love me.”He says plainly, as though he didn’t just make a mess of his own trousers, as though it’s an irrefutable fact.Which it is, really, has been for a very long time.

“Yes, I suppose I do.And you me.”

“Long time now,” Crowley says, staring at him with the softest look that Aziraphale has ever seen on his face.He brings a shaky hand up and strokes Aziraphale’s cheek, “I felt it, just then.”

“Is _that_ what you felt, then?” Aziraphale asks with a raised eyebrow as Crowley barks out a laugh.

“Among…well… other things,” Crowley says with a smirk of his own.“You know, I still have the other foot… horrible thing, that, just absolutely painful, can barely stand it.”

Aziraphale smiles and cups the back of Crowley’s neck, pulling him in closer, “Ah yes, well we can’t have that, can we?”

“No, just won’t do at all,” Crowley says, closing the last of the distance, bringing their lips together for the first time.


	11. Mark Making - Agreeing to Raise the Antichrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven years is not a long time, and the desperation finally spurs them to action
> 
> Prompt: Mark-making  
> Specific tags:  
> Mild panic attack, Bruising, Biting

“Godfathers.Well, I’ll be damned.”

Aziraphale laughs and smiles, like it’s the most novel concept he’s ever thought of.Crowley can see through it.Can see how the smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.Can see him pretending.Eleven years, that’s all they have.Eleven years and then it’s all over.The Big One.The End.All of it up in flames and them both along with it. 

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it,” Crowley says, smirking like he’s fine.Like his soul isn’t screaming; like the dark and wanting thing that lives inside him isn’t clawing and scratching and trying it’s damndest to cleave it’s way out of his chest.To leave him here bloody and broken on the floor of the bookshop.Bury him here, he doesn’t care anymore.

Aziraphale’s face falls at the suggestion, matching his mood better.He doesn’t need Aziraphale to tell him he’s concerned.That’s the angel’s default state of being and after six thousand years Crowley can read every quirk of an eyebrow, every twitch of an eye, every breath as it’s taken in and as it is pulled back out —unnecessary and pointless and oh so human.

Crowley’s pulse jumps beneath his skin, another unneeded thing, as he slides off the back of the sofa, sits on it proper.His feet tap erratically as Aziraphale fixes him with his gaze.Crowley’s face finds his hands, just so they have somewhere to go, something to do.They busy themselves covering his mouth, elbows resting on his knees, shaky and nervous.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale crosses over to him, kneels at his feet, breaks down Crowley’s walls with just the angle of his gaze.“Crowley, it’ll be alright.We can do this.”

“No time, angel…” Crowley trembles under Aziraphale’s gaze, can’t meet his eyes.Can’t take it anymore, “Eleven years, that’s nothing.That’s a _blink_ to us, it’s nothing at all.”

“Crowley, dear, please look at me,” Aziraphale cups both of his cheeks in his soft hands.Crowley is too shocked to move, held fast where he is under the soft swipe of Aziraphale’s thumbs across his cheekbones.There are lips pressed to his forehead, through the haze of this panic.He barely registers it.Aziraphale has never done that before.

“Angel?” Crowley asks on shaken breaths, hope and light and something that could be called love but being a demon he’s loathe to say it bubble up bright inside of his chest as he looks into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Crowley, my darling…” Aziraphale’s voice cracks around the endearment, six thousand years of hiding and keeping it locked inside.Crowley has known, hard not to when you know someone that well.It’s always been there, with both of them.Over oysters and arrangements and satchels and thermoses. 

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley chokes out, a sob escaping him as he does, “Always bloody have always bloody will and you know it and I know it and there’s only eleven years left and then it’s over and I need you—“

His mind goes blank when Aziraphale kisses him, but not so blank that he doesn’t respond.They kiss each other in desperation, more tongue and teeth than anything else.Six thousand years of longing and waiting collapsing into a singularity —right here, in this bookshop in Soho.

Clothes are discarded haphazardly, not a care paid to what happens to them.Crowley’s teeth sink into the soft skin where Aziraphale’s neck meets his shoulder, Aziraphale bites Crowley’s bottom lip hard enough it could draw blood from a human.Crowley bites red welts into the softness of Aziraphale’s chest as the angel opens him up slowly on his fingers.Aziraphale responds by gripping his bony hips tight enough to bruise as he chases his pleasure within him.

Crowley’s nails dig red trenches into Aziraphale’s back as he comes, painting his own stomach as Aziraphale changes the angle, brings him up to sit in his lap.He lifts Crowley easily before impaling him on his cock again and again, gripping tighter and tighter.It feels like Aziraphale might never relinquish his grip and Crowley believes he could die happy right here and right now.Sod the fucking war —let Aziraphale rip him apart instead.

Aziraphale’s hands migrate up Crowley’s back, one twining in his long hair and the other gripping the back of his neck with angelic force as Aziraphale thrusts up into him one last time, spilling out and into him and crying out with a guttural groan.

They fall together onto the sofa, wider now than it had been, enough space for two.They whisper to each other, confessions and words long unspoken, promises and reassurances that they can do this.They can do this _together_.Crowley traces the bruises on his hips, marks to show that this happened.Aziraphale was here touching him, loving him, fucking him absolutely senseless.

He’ll keep them there, make sure they stay.

All the way through to the end.And Aziraphale will see them when they exchange faces, and Crowley will walk through fire for him.For his angel, and for all the years and centuries they’ll have after that.


	12. Leather - The Dowling Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a surprising, yet familiar, visitor to Mr. Cortese's class.
> 
> Prompt: Leather  
> Specific Tags:  
> Crowley has a Vulva and uses she/her pronouns in this, cuz she's Ashtoreth, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus

“Wily temptress.”

“M' a demon, it’s in the job description.”

The marble counter is cool against Crowley’s skin and Aziraphale’s beard is rough against her cheek.He crooks his finger just so and her back arches, fingernails scraping through blond curls.

Crowley had made a gambit today.A risk that is paying off considerably as Aziraphale sucks bruises into the side of her neck.Crowley had donned her old persona, Nanny Ashtoreth; showed up for a surprise visit in the middle of Warlock’s lessons.She’d walked into the study prim and proper as ever, umbrella gripped tight in her hands, hair piled in curls on top of her head under a smart and stylish hat, and her wool skirt suit was fitted perfectly to her body.But her favorite part of this outfit by far was the thigh high black patent-leather boots with three-inch stiletto heels.They clicked against the wood flooring with an echo louder than it had any right to be. 

Crowley had watched Aziraphale’s eyes on her as she had crossed the room, as she had complimented his lesson plans.She ran a teasing finger through his beard, complimenting it and calling him “ruggedly handsome” in the best singsong voice she could muster. 

Which had led them here, as Aziraphale had pulled her into the front half-bath and hoisted her onto the counter.They’d knocked the bottles and knickknacks to the floor when Aziraphale had pressed her against the mirror, reaching down between her legs and teasing at her folds.

Aziraphale’s beard is streaked with deep burgundy where her lipstick has rubbed off in it, his hair is disheveled and his bowtie disappeared somewhere unknown.But as he captures her lips again, dipping two fingers into her this time, she can’t be bothered to care about the surroundings.

“You _had_ to come in here looking like that, darling?”

“Gotta mix it up occasionally, angel.Thought it might be fun.”

“Hmmm…yes, very fun,” Aziraphale says as he nips at her bottom lip before sinking to his knees.His hands start at her ankles, caressing her slowly as they make their way up the black leather before tossing her legs over his shoulders.“I must say, you always make a delicious delicacy in any form, Crowley.”

He plants a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh before he dips his head under her skirt, tongue teasing along her folds and circling her clit.She writhes under his mouth, burying her hands in his hair and positioning him where she likes.His beard is rough against the smooth skin of her inner thigh as he licks into her with abandon, tasting her like she’s a prize-winning dessert at the Savoy.Crowley’s back arches off the mirror and she cries out as Aziraphale makes a ruin of her, she unravels under his tongue, coming apart in the way she likes best.

He looks up at her from his position by her knees, wipes his mouth off on his shirt sleeve.“Well, my dear girl, I’d say that was a lovely surprise visit.”

“Bastard,” Crowley says with infinite fondness as she hops off of the countertop to join him on the floor, kissing him again and pushing him back onto the tile.“Now it’s my turn,” Crowley says as she reaches for the button on his trousers.


	13. Ripped clothes - Paris 1793

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finds himself hungry for more than crepes after his time in the Bastille; Crowley is happy to oblige.
> 
> Prompt: Ripped clothes
> 
> Specific Tags:  
> Hand jobs

The crepes are, in fact, worth nearly being beheaded for; but for Aziraphale’s taste, the company is much better.He lets the powdered sugar dissolve on his tongue, lets just a hint of the strawberry juice run down his chin.The sunlight glints at just the right angle that he can see Crowley’s eyes through his dark lenses, and he watches those eyes trace the juice trail along his chin before reaching for a napkin.

Crowley sits across from him, chin propped up in his hand.He sways back and forth slightly and it’s hypnotizing.Ever since he’d shown up in that cell, Aziraphale’s knight in shining armor, so to speak, he’s found himself laser-focused on the demon.The pale expanse that is the taught line of his neck, the pinkish lips begging to be kissed, the tantalizing tattoo in his hairline that Aziraphale has long yearned to trace with his finger.He’d followed behind Crowley, through the streets of Paris, just for the sake of watching that walk.That extremely _sinful_ walk.

“So,” Crowley asks, breaking Aziraphale from his thoughts “What are you in the mood for now?”

A loaded question, there’s so much he’s in the mood for.Things with lips and teeth and skin and sweat, it’s consuming him.Crowley’s mouth is upturned in the slightest hint of a smirk.Surely he must know, must be able to sense the waves of desire that Aziraphale knows are rolling off of him.

“I think,” Aziraphale says, downing the last of his wine and folding his napkin on his plate, “Perhaps quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol would be nice.”

He flicks his gaze towards Crowley.Then away.Then back again.A coy look meant to convey more than words; especially since words are something that they cannot do.Crowley swallows heavily, opens and then closes his mouth a few times.Some errant consonants make their way out but no real words.

“Shall I get the check, dear boy?” Aziraphale asks quietly.

“No, no, my treat, angel,” Crowley says as he flags down a waiter.

* * *

Crowley’s lodgings are sparse, as befit his current disguise as one of the revolutionaries.In normal circumstances, the room would be crowded with others, space at a premium.Fortunately for them (perhaps miraculously), everyone seems to be busy elsewhere today.

This is, of course, of no matter to Aziraphale.

As soon as the door closes behind them, he has Crowley pinned to the wall.Aziraphale kisses him desperately, wrapping one arm around Crowley’s skinny frame.The other gets buried in the demon’s hair, making him groan.

“Absolutely appalling.” He breathes against Crowley’s lips as he makes a ruin of what he’s sure Crowley thought was something close to stylish, tugging and pulling until Crowley’s hair flows freely around his shoulders.

“ _And yet_ you’re all over — _gah_ _—_ all over me.”

“Only because this whole…well… everything is so distasteful.” Aziraphale relishes the jump in Crowley’s pulse as he nips down his neck, loves the way Crowley’s back arches off the wall and how it pushes the demon closer to him. “I do have standards.”

“So you said, but you’re still snogging a demon.”

Aziraphale kisses the smirk off of Crowley’s face, loses himself in it; he allows himself to touch and kiss and caress the way he wants to.Lets his hands map Crowley’s body, fabric barrier between them, as the kisses turn languid and smooth, until they are just a sliding of his mouth on Crowley’s.

He’s in heaven here —the real one, not the capital H one— surrounded by the love they can’t speak of, that Crowley would surely deny.But they can’t deny this, the base instincts of their corporations.It’s easy to explain away, easy to justify.In Aziraphale’s mind, at least, it’s easy to.

Suddenly, the slow slide of lips is not enough for him, he finds the edge of Crowley’s culottes, and decides the fasteners are too much.He rips them at the seams, tossing them aside, finding Crowley already hard for him.

“Aziraphale!I liked those,” A token protest that doesn’t match with the searing kisses Crowley is trailing over his jaw or the long thin fingers that have found a home gripping his arse.

“I’ll fix them later, darling.Promise.”He spares a miracle to slick his hand before wrapping it around Crowley’s length, relishing the hiss that escapes Crowley’s lips as he bucks into Aziraphale’s hand.“For now, let me make you feel wonderful.”

“Yes, angel, please,” Crowley’s hands grip Aziraphale tighter as he squirms and writhes, the motion of his hips not quite matching Aziraphale’s strokes.Aziraphale has always preferred slow; Crowley, fast and hard.They find a rhythm, somewhere in the middle.Aziraphale whispers into Crowley’s skin on every downstroke, whispers _my hero_ and _gorgeous tempter_ and _perfect_.Never what he actually wants to say, but more than he should. 

Crowley’s hips stutter as he spills over Aziraphale’s fist, golden yellow eyes rolling back as his leg shakes.Aziraphale wraps his arm around him tighter, holding him up and working him through it.This is what Aziraphale waits for, what he gets out of this.The wave of love and pleasure washes over him, crashes against whatever jagged rocks make up his foolish heart.Aziraphale captures Crowley’s lips with his again, needing nothing more than his demon’s satisfaction.

Soon, they’ll pull themselves together, go their separate ways until the next time.But for now, Aziraphale can hold Crowley close to him, relish the afterglow and that singular feeling that comes from giving the being you lo—well, the most important being in your life, that is— everything that they want but can’t ask for.

Maybe someday, he’ll start asking.


	14. Orgy - Multiple Aziraphale's; Post-Armageddon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley can have some snake-like anatomy; Aziraphale can take full advantage of it.
> 
> Prompt: Orgy/Double Penetration
> 
> Specific Tags:  
> Crowley has two penises, three Aziraphales

“How do you feel, love?” Aziraphale coos softly into Crowley’s ear.Crowley’s back is pressed to his chest as he writhes in Aziraphale’s lap, as Aziraphale lifts him up and sinks him back down onto his cock, over and over, reveling in the lovely little moans that escape Crowley’s mouth.He kisses the demon’s neck, whispers his love into his skin.

“You’re everywhere, _fuck_ ,” Crowley gasps out as he cranes his neck, capturing Aziraphale’s lips with his own, licking into his mouth with a tongue that’s a bit too forked and a bit too long to be human.To be fair, Crowley isn’t wrong.

Aziraphale had become…a bit _curious_ about snake biology over the years.For purely innocent reasons, of course.What if Crowley were a snake around him?What would he need?He’d wanted to be sure.There were, of course, a few bits of trivia he had retained.

One drunken conversation and a question later, Crowley had manifested two penises on his human form.They’d had some fun with them, a few times now (one notable instance where Crowley had kept himself half snake from the waist down — Aziraphale hadn’t realized he’d be a fan of the slick slide of scales).But this had been different, Crowley had asked for more, and Aziraphale had provided.

At the foot of the bed, bent down where Crowley is kneeling, there are two exact copies of himself.Two Aziraphales - fully him in every way.As Aziraphale impales Crowley on his cock, the two copies busy their mouths.One on each of his hemipenes.

“You unravel so beautifully for me, darling,” Aziraphale coos into his ear.The clones moan around his cocks, one up then one down, alternating their rhythm, not quite finding a steady one; keeping Crowley squirming trying to decide which way to grind.

“Aziraphale, it’s so much,” Crowley chokes out and all three of them pause.

“We can stop if you need to, darling,” Aziraphale says as he brushes Crowley’s hair back from his sweaty forehead, placing a soft kiss to his tattoo.

“No, don’t wanna, want you,” Crowley says as he rolls his hips, pushing further into the clones’ mouths, “Don’t stop, Aziraphale.”

“As you wish, my only,” Aziraphale grips Crowley’s hips tight, lifting him up and then slamming back into him.The clones set back to their rhythm, sucking and licking at his cocks.Aziraphale doesn’t last much longer, weakened by the need to keep the clones moving and working, and he spills into Crowley while shouting his name.He settles Crowley into his lap, arms wrapped around him possessively, left hand over Crowley’s heart, feeling the scattershot of it beating under his palm.

The clones keep up their ministrations as Crowley moans and babbles.He comes with a shout, pulsing down both of their throats before they shimmer out of existence.

A quick snap of Aziraphale’s fingers has them clean and wrapped in Crowley’s silk sheets.Aziraphale cards his fingers through Crowley’s hair, murmuring affection and praise as the demon snuggles impossibly closer to him.

This, the after, is what they fought for.The ability to just lie here and hold one another, to be soft and comfortable in their existence.Crowley sleepily reaches for Aziraphale, takes the angel’s left hand in his.The last sensation Aziraphale feels as he drifts to sleep alongside Crowley, is the feeling of their matching rings bumping against each other where their fingers are entwined.


	15. Sensory Deprivation - Wessex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inner workings of Crowley's mind, while he is blindfolded and his ears are covered.
> 
> Prompt: Sensory Deprivation  
> Specific Tags:  
> Sensory Deprivation, Blow Jobs/Deepthroating, Signalling as a form of safe-word (though no one safe words out), Hair pulling

It sounds like a rushing river.

Well, what Crowley can hear, anyway.It isn’t _really_ a river, of course.It’s nothing more than the traitor blood that courses through his veins, far too human for it’s own good.No, he can’t hear anything but that.His ears have been covered, as have his eyes.Soft woolen cloth blocking out the light and the noise in equal measure.

He can hear Aziraphale’s timbre above him, can’t make out the words, only the vibrations.It’s like he’s buried six feet under, mouth full of dirt.He wants to claw at it with his fingers, dig his way out.

Crowley can’t, of course, claw himself out.Wouldn’t want to, either.Not here, not in the capable hands of his angel; hands that had tied the wool slowly, had made sure it wasn’t too tight.He still has three senses, after all.He can feel his armor digging into his skin where he kneels on the ground; can smell the fire outside and the roast meat that’s cooking on it.A hand brushes across his cheek, his helmet long ago discarded.The second of his angel’s hands places a scarf into his.He knows the game - if it’s too much, drop the scarf, and everything stops.

He hasn’t dropped the scarf yet, in any of these encounters. 

Aziraphale taps the side of his cheek, and Crowley opens his mouth obediently.He can feel the thrum of proximity as Aziraphale moves closer, the magnetism that draws him in like a flower towards the sun.He can smell the musk and sweat of him, the scents that are so unmistakably Aziraphale; they’re intoxicating and cause arousal to pool in his gut, pressure tight between his legs. 

He leans forward, eager and wanting, which earns a firm grip in his hair, pulling him back.Aziraphale’s voice is muffled, but after all this time Crowley knows a fond admonishment when he hears it. 

Aziraphale positions him as he sees fit, and Crowley lets him, pliant under his angel’s hands.Crowley nearly cries out when Aziraphale finally pushes his cock into Crowley’s waiting mouth, leveraging him with the grip in his hair, fucking into his mouth like Crowley is his own personal plaything.

Crowley tightens his grip on the scarf.

Aziraphale’s cock is thick and heavy on his tongue, the salt and sweat of him a delicacy that Crowley wants to savor.Sod the roasted meats and all the mead in the world, he could subsist off of this alone if he were allowed.Aziraphale scrapes his nails along Crowley’s scalp, then turns the touch to a caress.Back and forth, dueling sensations.Crowley’s armor feels heavier than usual on his body, Aziraphale is heavy in his mouth, the rushing sound of his own blood is even heavier still in his ears.

He wants to be crushed under all of it.

The grip on his hair tightens as Aziraphale pushes into his mouth as far as he can;one final thrust.He spills down Crowley’s throat, twitching and filthy, and Crowley thanks…well, thanks _someone_ that he doesn’t need a gag reflex if he doesn’t want one.He hums his appreciation into the soft curls at the base of Aziraphale’s cock, the tickling sensation of them even stronger for his lack of sight and sound.Everything feels like _more_ and he can’t get enough of it.

Aziraphale doesn’t let him go, lets himself go soft in Crowley’s mouth.Crowley makes no protest, grips the scarf tight, doesn’t move until he feels Aziraphale slowly pry the scarf out of his hand.The wool cloth around his eyes and ears falls away and his first sight is Aziraphale, smiling at him, utterly besotted and sated.

“Hello, my dear.”

The light behind the angel illuminating him like a halo, like the only altar worthy of worship.And what else is Crowley to do then but lean in and kiss him?


	16. Edgeplay - Post-apocalypse, Naga!Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale indulges in his husbands more demonic side.
> 
> Prompt: Edgeplay  
> Specific Tags:  
> Naga Crowley, Hemipenes, Snake Anatomy, Aziraphale has a Vulva, Double Penetration

Aziraphale sighs heavily in contentment, feeling the taut muscle of his husband coil around him. Something new tonight, something a bit more daring. Crowley caresses his cheek, clawed fingers not daring to scratch, but leaving Aziraphale with a pleasant shiver down his spine.

Despite what heaven has always tried to impart to him, Aziraphale has always loved Crowley with his entire heart. Every facet of him, even his demonic side. It’s antithetical to what he is, really, but he can’t help it. Crowley is just…well…Crowley, and Aziraphale can’t help but love him no matter what form he takes.

Today, Crowley has let some of his more demonic and snake-like tendencies out. His fingers have lengthened, stretching into the aforementioned claw points. Void-black scales creep across his knuckles and his wrist, all the way up his arms. They frame the long line of his neck, right up into his hairline. Dot his cheeks and forehead where he’s let them take hold. His eyes are somehow bigger, and they glow in the dark of their bedroom. A tantalizing and beautiful acid yellow, right to the edges. His chest is the most human part of him, and Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s steady heartbeat under his palm as his hand makes its way downward, feeling the smooth line of his muscle, but it stops at his naval.

From the waist down, Crowley is a serpent. Large and imposing, coiling around the room in such a way that Aziraphale isn’t sure where Crowley actually  _ ends _ . All he knows is the slide of scales against his skin as the coils wrap him, the pressure between his legs as they slide against him. 

Crowley kisses him with too many teeth and with a tongue that is far too long, and Aziraphale  _ revels _ in it. In this experience that is wholly theirs and no one else’s — because no one else would understand.

The coils wrap around Aziraphale’s wrists, binding them behind his back. Crowley is much stronger in this form, a match for Aziraphale’s own considerable strength. Aziraphale tries to rut against Crowley’s body but finds it just out of reach of where he’s held. He can’t bear down on him, can’t get any friction where he wants it most. 

“Crowley, darling, please, I need…I need…” He whines as the elusive tip of Crowley’s tail just barely brushes against his clit.

“Greedy today, are we, angel?” Crowley’s voice has an otherworldly quality to it in this state, a hiss to it even when the sound of the word doesn’t call for it. It thrills Aziraphale to his core. 

Crowley has had him on edge now for hours, the barest tease to keep him wet and wanting. A shift of scales against his core now and again, just enough to keep him squirming, to keep him interested. Not that he needs to do anything special to hold Aziraphale’s interest, he’s held it for millennia in one way or another. Aziraphale’s breath is heavy, he can feel the drops of sweat that roll down his face, the way his hair is plastered to his forehead.

Crowley shifts his body, lowering Aziraphale down until he straddles him. The relief at just the merest touch makes Aziraphale want to sob, to rut against Crowley with an animalistic instinct. The scales that touch his folds shift and slide, and Aziraphale gasps at the sensation of being held firm against Crowley’s vent. His hips shift, an experimental movement, and he shivers at the sensation of it. 

“That’s it, angel, coax them out.”

Aziraphale grinds against him, a slick slide that makes him whimper - that makes Crowley moan. After a few moments of this, something —two somethings— push their way out of Crowley’s vent.

“ _ Oh… _ oh my.” Aziraphale grinds into Crowley harder, dragging himself along the lengths of Crowley’s hemipenes. “Oh, Crowley, you beautiful thing.”

“Nrnf.” Is all Crowley can manage to say, spine undulating in time with Aziraphale’s hips. A base desire to see them both to completion.

“Crowley, Crowley, darling, please, can I—“

“ _ Hrnn _ —fuck, yesss, Aziraphale, I wanna see you.” 

Crowley sounds breathless in his own right, Aziraphale notes with just a hint of pride before quickening his pace, sliding against Crowley’s cocks, grinding his clit down against them. He comes with a shout without ever taking Crowley into him, takes gasping breaths of relief as his heart rate slows back to normal.

“My turn?” Crowley asks, and Aziraphale kisses him deeply.

“Yes, my love, please,” Aziraphale begs against his lips.

The next moments are a blur. Crowley’s coils tighten as he flips their positions, pushing Aziraphale down into the mattress. There’s a shimmer of a miracle —hard to work someone open on claws— before Crowley is pushing into him, one cock into his cunt and one into his arse. Aziraphale cries out as Crowley pushes all the way in, splitting him open. He would gladly break at the seams for Crowley.

The demon sets a punishing rhythm, chasing his pleasure in Aziraphale’s body, whispering love and devotion into his skin, kissing bruises into his neck and chest. It’s not long before Crowley spills into him, Aziraphale shouting his name as he comes for a second time.

Crowley stills against his chest, heavy breathing matching Aziraphale’s own. He wraps his coils around Aziraphale some more. An embrace this time, here in the afterglow.

“Was that…was that good?” Crowley asks him, eyes slowly shifting back to their usual state, scales receding from his face and his neck. 

Aziraphale cups his cheek and kisses him slow and easy, “Perfect, my dear, absolutely perfect. I love you quite terribly, you know?”

“Should hope so, you’re the bastard who married me,” Crowley says as he kisses Aziraphale’s forehead. They both devolve into sleepy giggles at that, sleepy laughter that slowly turns to quiet contentment as they both drift off, happy and sated in the afterglow. Crowley stays wrapped tight around his angel, and Aziraphale sleeps soundly in his demon’s coils. 

  
  



	17. Virginity - Mesopotamia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawly doesn't want his first time to be a bad time; Aziraphale is happy to oblige.
> 
> Prompt: Virginity  
> Specific Tags:  
> First Time, Virgin Crowley, Experienced Aziraphale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is way longer than I intended any of these chapters to be, but I wanted to do this right and it needed the extra words for the gentleness and consent I wanted in it.

The Ark rocks back and forth on the sea; it’s cold and just a little damp below the decks where they are. They’ve been at sea for who knows how long now, the rain had stopped ages ago, but still the boat drifted on. 

They are hidden away below decks, kept safe from prying eyes. Crawly could’ve been out there, drowning with the rest of them, if not for Aziraphale. The fact that it would’ve merely been disincorporation and not a true death is not something they speak about. They do, however, speak of the proclivity of humans, the fate of the unicorns, and the necessity of two of every creature.

“They need two to procreate, Crawly, what did you think Adam and Eve were doing in the Garden?”

“Ah, so that’s…well,” Crawly says with finality despite not meeting Aziraphale’s gaze, “thought it might’ve just been for fun.”

“It can be, if it’s done right.”

“Wait, there’s a wrong way?”

“Oh yes, and it can be painful if done the wrong way, not a fun thing, to be sure— wait, you’re a  _ demon _ , shouldn’t you know this?” Aziraphale asks, eliciting a string of consonants from Crawly in lieu of real words.

“Oh, what so I’m a demon means I’m…I’m…” Crawly blusters about once he finds some vowels to throw in the mix before promptly losing them again and resorting to gesturing wildly instead.

“You mean you haven’t?” Aziraphale asks, bemused at Crawly’s sputtering, “Not even out of a curiosity?”

“ _ No _ angel I haven’t  _ indulged in the sins of the bloody flesh _ .” Crawly snaps at him, crossing his arms and sulking against the wall. Aziraphale can barely suppress his grin at the demon being so out of sorts. “And you can stop that  _ smirking _ , bastard.”

“I do  _ not _ smirk, I’m just surprised, is all.”

“What’s the matter, angel?” Crawly asks, leaning in and raising an eyebrow, “Are you thinking, surely, one as tempting as  _ Crawly _ must have indulged at some point, just look at him, hmm?”

“No I was thinking you’re a  _ demon _ ,” Aziraphale snaps back, despite the obvious heat rising in his cheeks and the sudden sweatiness of his palms. He can’t deny that Crawly is a vision, absolutely lovely and tempting in ways that Aziraphale tries hard not to think about. Ways that he decidedly does not think about at all, thank you very much.

They sit in an odd and heavy silence for what feels like hours, the occasional cough or shifting of limbs and fabric the only sounds in the otherwise eerily silent hold.

“So,” Crawly finally says, “it hurts if it’s not done right.” There’s something small and frightened in his voice that Aziraphale can’t place.

“It can, yes.” Aziraphale says, trying to be gentle in his honesty, “If the person is not experienced or if their partner is less than honorable.”

“I hope my first time doesn’t,” Crawly says with a cough, as though trying to hide the words behind it. Aziraphale’s heart aches for him, just a bit.

“The best thing is to make sure it’s with someone you trust.”

“Someone I trust…” Crawly repeats slowly.

This is a different silence, a precipice of sorts. The electric tension of decisions about to be made, of questions about to be asked. Aziraphale stares straight ahead, decidedly doesn’t watch the way Crawly fiddles with the hem of his robes.

“I trust  _ you _ , angel,” he finally says, so soft it could easily be missed. But it wasn’t, Aziraphale heard him quite clearly. There are a scant few inches between where his hand rests on the wood and Crawly’s thigh, and it suddenly feels like an entire ocean between them.

He knows what Crawly is angling for, knows what he wants from this. And, would it not be an act of blessing? Making sure that this poor soul’s first time is as good as it possibly could be? Surely, She couldn’t object. After all, lust is a sin, but sex itself is not. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself; that it’s this and not a want that simmers under his skin whenever they’re near each other. Inch by inch he moves his hand closer, strokes Crawly’s leg softly with his finger.

“What are you asking me, Crawly?” He asks because Crawly has to  _ say _ it, can’t just hint at it, and that’s really the first thing he should learn.

“Would you….” Crawly swallows thickly. Aziraphale watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down, letting go of his restraint just a little. Lets the thoughts that he locks down inside of him bubble to the surface. Just for now, just for today. Crawly is leaning in towards him, eyes searching for something Aziraphale can only assume is permission. “Would you be my first, angel?”

“Crawly,” Aziraphale whispers, a breath away from Crawly’s lips, “if that’s what you want, you need only ask.”

Crawly surges forward and kisses him, bumping their teeth together. It’s sloppy and inexperienced, but also so endearing. The way Crawly’s mouth opens under his, letting him in and letting him take. Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crawly’s waist, pulls him in to straddle his lap, feels him hard already. Crawly can’t seem to decide where his hands should go, but finally settles for looping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, grinding against him on instinct, moaning into his mouth.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asks when they break apart. There’s an emotion flowing off of Crawly now, not quite love but not  _ not _ love. It isn’t quite there yet; just the beginnings of an emotion, barely breaching the surface. It’s like nothing Aziraphale has ever felt and it’s intoxicating, but he needs Crawly to be sure.

“Please, angel, I want you.” Crawly punctuates this by rolling his hips once more as Aziraphale gasps.

“I’m going to open you now, darling, but I’ll go slow. You have to tell me if it hurts, alright?”

Crawly nods as he hitches his robes up around his waist. Aziraphale runs his hands along Crawly’s thighs, feeling the lean muscle of him. He takes his time exploring with his hands, taking in the staccato of Crawly’s ribs, the jut of his hips, the smooth and soft skin of his arse.

A spare miracle has his fingers coated in oil, and he circles on slowly at Crawly’s entrance, earning him a breathy moan as Crawly falls forward, head landing on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He pushes in slow, reading Crawly’s body as he does. The soft murmurings of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘more’ whispered into Aziraphale’s neck spurring him onward. He works Crawly open with one finger, then two; opens him slowly, makes it good for him.

Aziraphale will make this perfect for him, he can do that.

“Aziraphale, please,” Crawly whines as he grinds back onto Aziraphale’s fingers, “Please, need you, want you.”

“Are you sure, dear? I’ll go slowly, it stops as soon as you say.”

“Please, angel, fuck me.”

Aziraphale pulls his fingers out, and Crawly whines at the loss. Aziraphale grips Crawly’s hips tight with one hand and lines himself up with the other. It’s a slow push, steady and gentle, agonizing and beautiful. Crawly’s face as he sinks down onto Aziraphale’s cock makes Aziraphale wish he could paint; he wants to capture that image, keep it for lonely nights he knows are ahead.

“How does it feel?” He asks Crawly, needing to know, needing to make sure.

“Incredible, angel,” Crawly exhales on a shaky breath as he bottoms out. Aziraphale lifts him slowly by the hips before sinking him back down again. “Fuck’s sake, I can see why they do this all the time.”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale says, peppering Crawly’s neck with kisses as he lifts him again, “I want this to be perfect for you.”

“Couldn’t be anything else, not when it’s you.” Crawly says it quietly, like a secret, before he braces his legs on either side of Aziraphale and moves of his own accord, gasping and moaning as he fucks himself on Aziraphale’s cock.

Crawly comes with a cracked and strangled cry, spend soaking through both his robe and Aziraphale’s. The angel isn’t far behind, spilling into Crawly before gathering him into his arms. He pulls Crawly close to his chest, sparing a miracle to clean up the both of them, and just holds him until his breathing evens out.

“Was it good…for you?” Crawly asks him on a shaky breath.

“Of course, couldn’t be anything less, not when it’s you.” He echoes Crawly’s own words back at him, kissing his forehead softly.

“Ah, well,” Crawly says with obvious relief, “That’s alright then. Do you…do you think we could do it again?”

Aziraphale chuckles at him, “Possibly, not sure how long we’re meant to be on this boat, but for now, sleep and dream of whatever you like best.”

As Crawly falls asleep in his arms for the first (of many) times, Aziraphale gets the sense of a puzzle piece falling into place, exactly where it should be. Exactly where it belongs.

  
  



	18. Wet Dreams - the 100 year nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holy Water fight happens, but ends with a confession.
> 
> Prompt: Wet dreams  
> Specific Tags:  
> Wet dreams (obviously), interrupted blow jobs but they're interrupted by waking up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 7 more prompts to go, the end is in sight!
> 
> (I skipped 6 of them through the list because they are either not something I feel capable of writing or things that I actively avoid content of, though if I can find six more random ones that are not on the list that I can write, I may do six more just to have a rounded out 31. Yes this is an invitation for ideas >_> if y'all have requests xD)
> 
> I wanna take this opportunity cuz I'm feeling Soft this morning to thank y'all who have been reading through all of these, y'all have kept me going! <3 <3 
> 
> I also wanna take a minute to drop a link to my [Tumblr](http://moveslikebucky.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/moveslikebucky), come find me and hang out! You can also find me in the [Soft Omens](https://discord.gg/QU5krqq) and [Do It With Style Events](https://discord.gg/amnVAnb) discord servers, which are both a fun and happening' time! - _fingerguns_ -

“I have lots of other people to _fraternize_ with, _angel._ ”

“Of course you do,” Aziraphale spits back at him, with what looks like hurt painting his features, though Crowley can’t see his face quite clearly - glasses must be smudged.

“I don’t need you,” He lies, like a liar.Somehow he knows what comes next, can already see Aziraphale storming off, a hint of premonition like it’s happened before.

“But I need you,” Aziraphale says, taking Crowley’s gloved hands in his bare ones.It isn’t what he expected at all, he’s taken completely aback.“I _need_ you, Crowley.I can’t let you leave me that way, I can’t lose you that way.”

Aziraphale has a hiccough in his voice and _blast these bloody sunglasses_ he still can’t see him right.It’s like he’s just left of center and his eyes won’t focus on Aziraphale at all.But he knows Aziraphale is upset, is near tears, and he can’t have that.Can’t let it stand.

“Aziraphale, angel, hey — I’m not going anywhere, it’s just insurance.Against any other demons that might come.”

“So it isn’t….it’s not for…”

“Never, angel, I could never leave you that way,” Crowley says because it’s true, even if it feels like regret.He’s not sure _why_ it does, only that it stings with it.With a weight of things unsaid, despite the fact that he just said them.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says with that certain inflection, the one that leads to successful plays and crepes and silly things like that.“Crowley, take me home.”

He doesn’t remember snapping his fingers; he doesn’t remember Aziraphale doing it, either.But one of them _must_ have, because now they’re in his flat, dark and silent as it is.

“Aziraphale, what—“ He starts but doesn’t get the chance to finish.Aziraphale pushes him up against the solid oak door, hands fisted in Crowley’s lapels.Aziraphale kisses him like a man drowning, desperate as he licks into Crowley’s mouth.The moans he makes are indecent and altogether familiar, same as the ones he makes over dessert.Exactly the same.

The whole thing is strange, like Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s lips but not really.He chalks it up to shock and wraps his arms around Aziraphale instead, giving back as good as he gets.They stumble backwards to the bed and Aziraphale pushes him down onto it, never once breaking the kiss even as he straddles Crowley’s lap, the hard line of his cock pressed into Crowley’s where it strains against his trousers.

He hadn’t even realized he _was_ aroused, but now he’s painfully aware of it.Aziraphale licks and nips at his neck, entirely too gentle. Crowley wants marks from this, proof of it happening at all.

“Just lie back, my darling,” Aziraphale whispers into his skin, making Crowley’s cock twitch, “Let me take care of you.”

Aziraphale reaches for the buttons on Crowley’s trousers, unfastens them slowly, deliberately.He presses hot, wet kisses to Crowley’s cock through his underthings, making his back arch off the bed and—

Crowley wakes with a shout, sitting bolt upright and breathing heavily.A dream, then.Explains a lot, especially the regret.

He takes stock of his surroundings.It’s his flat, yes, but it’s dusty and dark.A few spiders have made their homes in some of the far corners of his bedroom.His hair, cropped short when he first laid down, is now far past his shoulders, probably past the small of his back at this point.

Must've been a long nap

He throws the covers off, intent on getting up and procuring a newspaper or something to tell him how long he’s been asleep, and is surprised to find the blanket and sheets both sticky with his own come, some of it long since dried.

A recurring dream, then.That explains…well… something, probably, but he’s not cognizant enough to tell right now.

Crowley groans as he runs a hand through the tangle of his hair.He snaps his fingers, summoning a very surprised copy of the daily newspaper directly to his hand.

The headline reads 1941; almost a century since he stormed back to this flat and flung himself into the bed, vowing to sleep until the sadness and regret faded away.

He spares another demonic miracle to clean himself up, fashion his hair and manifested clothes to something in style based on the newspaper images.He’ll catch up on the current state of things, but after that…

Well, he needs to find Aziraphale.Find him and say all the things he meant to say in that park.If Aziraphale wants anything to do with him, that is.

But if not, Crowley has become very adept at loving Aziraphale from afar.


	19. Uniform - Post-Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes out for a bit of mischief, Aziraphale waits at his flat.
> 
> Prompt: Uniform  
> Specific Tags:  
> Blow jobs, mostly clothed sex, Crowley's Fuck Shit Up Jacket

Crowley cracks his neck and sighs as he strides into his flat.He’s needed a good day of mischief for a while now, and today he had done exactly that.He’d donned his old jacket, headed out on the town, and had himself a lovely day of tomfoolery.He whistles to himself as he strolls through his home, intending to check on the plants and see just how out of line they’d gotten in his short absence.

“Had a fun day out, dear?” A voice from the shadows asks him.Not terse, more bemused than anything, but Crowley still knows when he’s been caught.

“Ah, Aziraphale, wasn’t expecting you to come round today.”

“Oh you weren’t?I see, my mistake.Perhaps I shouldn’t come by unannounced.” Crowley follows the sound of his voice to the office, where Aziraphale sits in Crowley’s throne, gingerly sipping a cup of tea, book open on the desk in front of him.“I sensed some low level demonic activity in the area, thought I’d come check in.”

Crowley loves to see this; to see Aziraphale making himself at home in his flat, acting like he belongs there.He does belong there, of course; Crowley wouldn’t have it any other way.Not now, not after everything.

“Nah, nothing major,” Crowley says as he hops onto the desk, pushing Aziraphale’s book and tea away and settling right in front of him, letting his legs dangle a bit above the ground.“Just some minor shenanigans, a bit of mischief.You know I get itchy if I don’t.”

Aziraphale frowns at him, though it’s not a serious one.If he were actually upset, his hands wouldn’t land on Crowley’s thighs.Wouldn’t coast up the buttons of his shirt to tangle in his scarf (Necklace? Tie? Crowley hasn’t ever been sure, really.) and pull him in for a kiss.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Aziraphale asks as he nuzzles their noses together, sighing happily.Crowley thinks he could get used to this casual affection, these touches he’s longed for, now freely given. 

Aziraphale kisses him again, softly and gently.Leans in a second time, a bit more desperately, with just a bit of teeth.Aziraphale kisses his cheek, his nose, his chin — making a pilgrimage of lips on visible skin.Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, the vinyl sliding against his skin.

“You know I love it when you wear this,” Aziraphale says into the skin of Crowley’s throat, working open the buttons of his shirt, “Makes you look like you know what you’re doing, like you know where you are, something sexy about that.”

“Is that so?” Crowley asks as Aziraphale’s hands find his skin.His eyes flutter close as Aziraphale caresses his stomach, his ribs; as Aziraphale kisses down his chest.

“Yes, it’s dreadfully tempting.” Aziraphale’s hands find the button of Crowley’s trousers, “May I, darling?”

“Yes, always, whatever you want.”

Aziraphale undoes the zipper slow, frees Crowley’s cock from the confines of his tight trousers.“You’re so gorgeous, my love.” Aziraphale says, pressing a kiss to the tip, eliciting a moan from Crowley.He strokes Crowley’s shaft slowly and steadily, pressing more kisses to his cock as he does.“Such a wily serpent you are, so _mischievous_ in your fancy jacket.

“Hnnn…’Ziraphale,” Crowley whines, hips bucking off the desk of their own accord.

“Eager for me, are you?” Aziraphale asks, leaning up to kiss him once more, “I love you, let me take care of you.”

Aziraphale takes Crowley’s cock into his mouth, taking him all the way in and swallowing around him.Crowley falls back flat against the desk, legs hanging off the front, head hanging off the back as Aziraphale sucks him off in the way he likes, does that thing with his tongue that Crowley can never seem to replicate in reciprocity but that makes him keen.

Strong hands hold his hips steady against the marble as Aziraphale devours him, sucks him off slowly just the way Crowley likes until he spills down Aziraphale’s throat with a shout, relishing the feeling of Aziraphale swallowing around him.

“Fuck, angel…” Crowley says as he leans up on wobbly elbows to look at him.Aziraphale looks put together as ever, and not like he’d just had a demon’s cock down his throat.

“Yes, quite.”

 _Bastard_.Crowley thinks as he crawls from the desk into Aziraphale’s lap, throne miraculously big enough for two now.They trade slow and languid kisses long into twilight, content to exist here with each other, in love and happy together.


	20. Hand Holding - Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale reaches out; Crawly reaches back.
> 
> Prompt: Hand-holding  
> Specific Tags:  
> None, this one is very G rated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look if y'all are gonna put "hand holding" on a prompt list it's gonna end up soft and sappy from me I don't make the rules xD so behold, the least kinky of all my kinktober fics

It happened slowly, with all the fanfare of nothing at all.No thunder cracked the sky (no new thunder, anyway), no fissures opened in the Earth to the fiery pits of Hell.God herself did not descend upon the Garden to enact her revenge.

Nothing at all happened when Aziraphale reached out and took Crawly’s hand, there on top of the wall, as the rain ended. 

Well, nothing outwardly.

Inwardly, Aziraphale’s heart was racing.It was a strange and new feeling, as he’d only had the heart for nigh on seven days.But he could feel the warmth of Crawly’s hand in his, how perfectly their fingers fit together. 

He wasn’t sure why he had done it, wasn’t sure what the point was.He had just felt he _needed_ to.Something deep inside him had longed to hold and to touch.Silly human corporation, probably.A response to the stress of things, surely.He’d have to explain the sword later; explain why he’d failed in his duties.It was not a conversation that he was looking forward to.

Aziraphale startled when Crawly brushed his thumb against his, a simple gesture but one that sent shockwaves down his spine.Made his stomach twist into knots, this way and that, with every slow stroke of Crawly’s thumb.He stared studiously ahead, not turning to face the demon beside him.

But his traitorous corporation wouldn’t keep his secrets.There was heat rising in his cheeks, sweat between where their hands were joined, and his breath was coming hitched, cut off, and ragged.

“I never got your name,” Crawly said, softly and gently, as if he were afraid speaking up would break whatever was happening.He punctuated his words with a squeeze of Aziraphale’s hand, and the angel realized with a stunning clarity that his nerves were not the only ones alight with anxiety.

He turned to face Crawly, finally, and found the words caught in his throat.The sunlight through the passing clouds painted splotches of light onto the demon’s fair skin, a contrast with the few scales that, once he really _looked_ at Crawly, he could see marking the sides of the demon’s neck.There was something in those acrid yellow eyes, something akin to hope, something akin to acceptance.His smile was genuine and sincere, his crimson hair looked so soft and Aziraphale wanted to reach out and touch it.Coil it between his fingers then let go, watch it bounce back into shape and then reach out and do it all over again.

“Aziraphale,” he finally breathed out on a sigh, squeezing Crawly’s hand, “My name is Aziraphale.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Aziraphale,” Crawly said as his smile grew wide.Aziraphale’s name in his mouth sounded like a song or like a prayer, the way his low voice rolled over the syllables slow like molasses.

Aziraphale thought maybe, just maybe, this tour of duty on Earth might not be so bad.


	21. Hypnosis - Magician Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley bets Aziraphale that his hypnosis for his magic act is bullshit; some confessions slip out in result
> 
> Prompt: Hypnosis  
> Specific Tags:  
> Crowley starts the fic under hypnosis but nothing happens sexually during said hypnosis. There is a brief misunderstanding, followed by a confession, and then a blowjob with enthusiastic consent from both parties. I was nervous about this prompt, so I did these specific tags a bit differently.

“Crowley, wake up!”

And he does, out of a very wonderful dream might he add. The details of it are going fuzzy, but he knows Aziraphale was there, knows they were together. He misses it already as he hazily comes to.

“Crowley, _please.”_

His surroundings fade back into existence, out of the fog of sleep. He’s in the bookshop, the backroom. The rug is stiff under his knees…why is he on his knees? His hands are gripping soft wool. His face is pressed into something soft as well, somewhere warm. Crowley could turn into a snake and curl up in the warmth. He nuzzles closer to it, to the warmth. Coasts his hands along the soft wool, not a care in the world.

“Crowley if you do not wake up fully this _instant_ , I will be quite cross with you.”

Oh, Aziraphale is here. That’s right, he’d needed to practice. Wanted to get the bearings on his magic before Warlock’s birthday tomorrow. Said something about…what was it… _hypnotism_ , yeah, that was it. Bunch of bollocks, that. Hypnotism. Can’t even pull a rabbit out of his had properly, much less hypnotize—

“ _Crowley!”_

Aziraphale has put just a hint of that be-not-afraid energy angels are so famous for into his name this time, and it snaps him to alertness. Alertness and mortification. The soft wool he’s been steadily stroking is the wool of Aziraphale’s trousers, the warmth and softness are the junction of his hip and thigh. Crowley has been kneeling here on the ground, nuzzling into Aziraphale like a cat.

It all floods back to him suddenly. A wager, a deal, and a gold pocket watch swinging slowly in front of his eyes. A whispered blessing as his eyes fell shut, heavy with the need of rest. _Dream of whatever you like best_.

Well, that had been a bad idea.

“Fuck,” Crowley says as he jumps to his feet and as far away from Aziraphale as he can feasibly get. “Angel, whatever I did, I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine, Crowley, you didn’t do anything. You were moaning, in your sleep. Saying my name. When I tried to speak to you, you fell off of the sofa. Crawled to me on your knees. I am the one who should be sorry, my dear.”

“You, why?”

“Well I was the one who hypnotized you, surely this was my influence somehow, and so I woke you up, before anything further could happen.”

“Why would it be your influence?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Aziraphale says, not meeting Crowley’s gaze.

“Angel,” Crowley says gently, daring to take a step closer, “You told me to dream of what I like best, surely you know by now that’s you?”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale says his name like it’s a prayer, has hope etched into the lines of his face before he schools it back to it’s usual indifference. “You know that we can’t.”

“I know, but Armageddon is only days away now.” Another step closer, close enough to reach out and touch now. “ Aziraphale, why did you think you influenced me?”

Aziraphale’s eyes dart to the bookshelves, the sofa, the old desk in the corner, anywhere and everywhere except for Crowley’s face.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says softly, cupping the angel’s face in his hands and gently turning his head to face him, “Tell me.”

“Because, you imbecile, I want you. “ There’s a hint of a sob to his voice, a wetness on his cheeks. Crowley swipes it away with his thumbs. “What I wouldn’t give to snog you senseless, to take you apart, to show you how much I…I…”

“How much you what?” Crowley asks, not because he needs to hear it. He doesn’t need to, he’s known for a long time now. When you know someone for six thousand years you learn every minute twitch of their face, can read them like a well-worn novel, a favorite never truly put down but picked up again and again. He doesn’t need to hear it, but Aziraphale needs to say it.

“How much I love you, Crowley. How much I always have.”

Crowley smiles at him, and Aziraphale smiles back. His shoulders are already relaxing, the weight of the words rolling off like water off a duck’s back. He looks ridiculous in his black velvet coat, with his big fluffy cravat and the wax mustache at a strange angle because he’s rubbish at drawing it on himself.

He’s ridiculous. He’s adorable. And he’s waiting.

Crowley pulls him in, kisses him softly. It’s a kiss six thousand years in the making. A simple press of lips to lips, before yielding into something more. Aziraphale’s tongue swipes against the seam of Crowley’s lips, and he lets the angel in willingly. They stand there in the bookshop, wrapped up in each other’s arms, lips slotted together. Crowley can feel the wax paint smear under his upper lip, he doesn’t care — Aziraphale doesn’t seem to either.

Thinking back on his dream, on how he woke from it, Crowley sinks down to his knees, clever fingers finding the button of Aziraphale’s trousers.

“Angel, can I?” He asks, pausing his work. He’s gone too fast for Aziraphale in the past, doesn’t want to assume this is welcome.

“Yes, Crowley, _yes_ ,” Aziraphale breathes as he buries a hand in Crowley’s hair. Crowley makes quick work of the buttons, freeing Aziraphale’s cock to the cool air of the back room. It’s thick and gorgeous, just like Aziraphale is. Crowley gives an experimental lick to the tip; it’s salty and warm. Aziraphale shivers, so Crowley does it again. He laps at the tip of Aziraphale’s cock, collecting the precome from the slit on his tongue, letting it roll over his tastebuds, savoring it.

Aziraphale grips his hair tight as Crowley sinks onto his cock, grateful that snakes don’t have any need for a gag reflex. It’s beautifully heavy on his tongue, and stretches his lips in a way he’s sure looks obscene and wanton from Aziraphale’s angle. Crowley grips Aziraphale’s thighs, soft and plush under his hands, and moans around Aziraphale’s cock. Crowley’s own arousal has him tight in his jeans, and he banishes his own cock. This is about Aziraphale now, he’s not going to have his own traitorous corporation getting in the way.

He sucks Aziraphale off slow, right here in the backroom of the bookshop. The place where they’ve spent countless nights and days in comfortable companionship. Where they shared chocolates in 1800, countless takeout dinners and countless glasses of fancy French reds. Where they’ve shared schemes and flipped coins and where Crowley, though he’s loathe to admit it, has found himself most at home in his entire long and storied life.

“Crowley, I can’t hold on, I’m…I’m…”

Crowley gently pulls Aziraphale’s hand from his hair, places it to his throat instead. A silent permission as he works Aziraphale with his tongue and his throat, letting Aziraphale feel himself in Crowley. Crowley swallows around him and Aziraphale lets go, comes with a shout thrusting hard into his mouth, spilling down his throat.

One hand is gripping Aziraphale’s thigh, the other is still on the angel’s hand on his throat. Crowley can feel Aziraphale softening in his mouth and slowly leans back. Aziraphale’s eyes are closed, and Crowley isn’t sure how he’s still standing. He looks like a feather might knock him over.

Crowley stands slowly, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and letting the angel collapse into his chest. Listens to his breathing become slower and steady, the heat of arousal giving way to the soft and comfortable afterglow.

The only question left is where they go from here, but they’ll figure it out together.


	22. Tattoo - Post-Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wants to tell Crowley nice things, Crowley has to lie back and take it
> 
> Prompt: Tattoo  
> Specific Tags:  
> Masturbation, Crowley's tattoo as an erogenous zone

“That’s it, darling, nice and slow,” Aziraphale whispers low into Crowley’s ear, a puff of hot breath against the snake tattoo on his face.Crowley does as he’s told, stroking himself off slowly, here in Aziraphale’s lap, while the angel whispers praise and adoration into his skin.

They’ve been at this for hours, maybe days, Crowley can’t remember.He’s barely able to remember up from down at this point, much less the passage of time.Such a human thing, that is, when you’re older than the concept itself.

“So lovely for me, so good and wonderful,” Aziraphale coos at him.There’s a haze to his voice, like misty fog over the moors, like the pleasant effects of a good scotch; something otherworldly about it.

Aziraphale’s hands glide up and down Crowley’s bare back, pushing into his spine to work out the knots, leaving his wings shivering where they lie on either side of him, still pliant from the grooming session that began all of this.“So much for me to love about you, my darling, from each of these vertebrae…” Aziraphale’s pilgrimage continues, around Crowley sides and to his barely-there paunch of a stomach “…to every inch of you, carved from marble just for me…”

Scalding kisses are pressed to the back of Crowley’s neck, open-mouthed and hungry.Crowley’s back arches on his next stroke, and Aziraphale merely holds him closer.Works his mouth around to the hinge of Crowley’s jaw, up to his earlobe to take it between his teeth, until finally a gentle and soft press of lips to the tiny black and red snake, the mark of what he is.

Crowley gasps aloud, a spark shooting through him at the touch.He doesn’t come yet, Aziraphale hasn’t told him to, but he gets damn near close.

“Sensitive here, aren’t we?I always forget that.” Aziraphale whispers with more than a hint of mischief on his voice.A soft but calloused touch traces along the tattoo, and Crowley can feel it like lightning winding through his nervous system.Tracing through his veins and riding on the blood there, a shock that’s not unpleasant, not unwelcome — but so unmistakably Aziraphale that it makes him keen.

“I quite love this mark, you know,” Aziraphale says, still tracing the lines with wonder, “I know you aren’t fond of it.There’s a certain reputation for individuals in London with face tattoos, but I find it rather fetching, always have.

“It reminds me, when I see it, of what you are and what I am…or, rather, what we were _supposed_ to be.And I suppose in a way we are; we are an angel and a demon in everything that counts.But you are kind, and you love, and you put yourself on the line for humanity or for me, and you make everything in my world brighter…make everything divine.”

“Angel…not….not gonna last,” Crowley gasps as his strokes go erratic, the feel of Aziraphale’s touch and the weight of his words spurring him onward, edging him closer to completion just as easily as his hand ever could.

“Go on then, darling, I think you’ve waited long enough, you can let go for me now,” Aziraphale says as he presses his lips to the tattoo again.Crowley comes riding an electric current that sizzles through his entire body; a wave of divine love so pure and so strong, delivered straight to the demonic center of him through his sigil, through his mark.Crowley spills over his own hand as tears start to fall from his eyes, as Aziraphale holds him close, whispering love like benedictions into his skin and carding fingers like promises through his hair as he gently lowers the both of them to the bed. 

Crowley drifts to sleep on a wave of love, more sturdy than any mountain and more powerful than any storm, as divinity tingles through the thin skin just next to his ear, through the mark of what he always is and always will be.But more than that, he is the one Aziraphale will always love, until time runs out.

And Crowley knows that, deep down in his heart.And, miracle of miracles, he believes it.


	23. Wrestling - Post-Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has always found the statue in Crowley's flat of evil triumphing over good very curious.
> 
> Prompt: Wrestling  
> Specific tags:  
> T-rated, no sexy times in this one friends, just the precursor with a bit of roughhousing but nothing serious, they're soft I couldn't make it _too_ rough.

Aziraphale stands in the foyer, tilting his head to the right and then tilting it back to the left, examining what has, for several months now, been a great source of frustration in his dear demon’s flat.

“Evil triumphing over good”, Crowley had said when Aziraphale had asked him what the sculpture was meant to portray.The two figures, locked in a struggle; the ‘evil’ one pinning the ‘good’ one underneath him.The both of them have looks of happiness on their face, as though they are having a fun time.They’re facing towards the wall, Crowley thinks he can hide it that way; but Aziraphale can crane his neck around just enough to see.To see the slit eyes on the figure with the dark wings, to note the specific curl of the hair on the holy one. 

It _does_ look like fun.

He hears soft footsteps behind him, off beat with the swagger of the legs and hips they attach to.Aziraphale waits, hands clasped behind his back.Doesn’t give the game away.Crowley steps up close behind him, breath warm on the back of Aziraphale’s neck.

“You’ve been staring for a while, angel, see something you like?” Crowley presses scalding kisses to Aziraphale’s neck, right there where his spine meets his skull.Aziraphale shivers at the contact, still new and fresh in this world-that-didn’t-end. 

“Hmmmm,” Aziraphale sighs out as Crowley wraps his arms around his waist, caressing his stomach like he’s something to be treasured.This gentle treatment still steals the breath from his lungs.It’s freely given, no conditions; Crowley just loves him as he is.But, as Crowley has said before, Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.“It does seem rather fun, doesn’t it?”

“Fun bit of positioning, with the wings and all,” Crowley says, dragging his nose through Aziraphale’s hair as he whispers, holding him tighter still.Aziraphale entwines his fingers with Crowley’s, takes a moment to marvel at how they fit together.

“And I suppose you would want me to take ‘good’s positioning, then?”

Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s grin spread against the crown of his head, sure he’s in for a treat, sure that he’s completed a temptation.“Would only be accurate to the statue, wouldn’t it?I know you’re a stickler for accuracy.”

“Mmmm… sometimes, yes,” Aziraphale practically purrs as he rubs his head against Crowley’s cheek, “But other times…”

Aziraphale moves fast, speed and strength ingrained from his years as a soldier.He grips Crowley’s wrist tight, spins him around and down, pinning him to the floor.He pulls one of Crowley’s arms back, pinning the demon to the ground with a knee to his back as the demon sputters and yowls.

“Evil triumphing over good, hmm?You seem to forget which of us competed in the Olympiad, my darling,” Aziraphale says with an expression that is definitely _not_ a smirk as he kisses what skin of Crowley’s he can reach.“Do you yield, dearest?”

“Fuck’s sake, yes, I yield!” Crowley shouts and Aziraphale moves off of him, straightening his bowtie and waistcoat as Crowley gains his bearings.Aziraphale steps forward towards him, wrapping the demon in his arms as Crowley stares at him in wonder.

“Now then, darling, what’s say we do a _different_ kind of wrestling, hmm?” Aziraphale punctuates his question with a series of slow kisses over Crowley’s Adam’s apple, up to his mouth where he kisses him soundly.

Crowley takes his hand, pulling him along to the bedroom, where there is different wrestling to be had indeed.


	24. Exhibitionism - Heaven/Hell's Elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their trials, Aziraphale and Crowley can't keep their hands off each other
> 
> Prompt: Exhibitionism  
> Specific Tags:  
> Bodyswap, Heavy makeouts, but this is strictly T rated, I cannot stress how much they do NOT fuck in the elevator

The door of the elevator dings when it opens, as ‘Crowley’ steps inside.‘Aziraphale’ already waits there, leaning nonchalantly against the mirrored glass.

“You do know you didn’t have to take the trip all the way down, my dear,” Crowley says as he shuffles into the elevator.

“Nah,” Aziraphale responds, crossing his arms over his chest, “Had to make sure they didn’t rough you up too badly.”

“Not much, nothing I couldn’t handle.Hastur is, of course, all bark and no bite.” Crowley has an uncharacteristic wiggle to his movements, Aziraphale a bit too smooth.

“Well, that’s good then.” _I’m glad you’re safe_ is what he means as he reaches for Crowley’s lapels, only for Crowley to yelp and jump away.

“Not yet!” _I’m still damp_ the words he doesn’t say.

“Not my fault I want to get my hands all over you, _demon_.”Aziraphale, who is actually Crowley, says as Crowley, who is actually Aziraphale, snaps his fingers to rid his demon’s body of every last drop of holy water.

“You do know there is a closed circuit feed in this elevator, right?Installed back in the nineties I believe.” _Don’t blow our cover_ is unsaid underneath, but very understood.

“Of course Hell would put in a closed circuit system, monitor the comings and goings.” _I know but Satan’s sake how I want to touch you_ buried under the words, and still just as clear.

“Well then, _angel_ ,” Aziraphale says in Crowley’s voice, drawling low as he crosses the elevator, snaking those serpentine arms around his own body’s neck in a clear act of temptation, “Shall we give them a going away show?”

“Tempting me now, eh?” Crowley says in Aziraphale’s voice, hands landing on his own scrawny hips as he pulls Aziraphale close, slots a leg between his thighs.

“I dare say so, and we’re at the perfect angle to be seen,” Aziraphale rolls Crowley’s hips, grinding against his own thick thighs.“Lets give them a show.”

Aziraphale’s lips capture Crowley’s, who’s who doesn’t matter.The kiss is desperate and passionate, same as the night before.Same as the kisses traded as they fell into Crowley’s bed, made love for the first time and swapped corporations accidentally.So much different than the soft and gentle ones they had traded this morning as they formulated their plan of escape.They lick into each other’s mouths with abandon, making a show of it.Hands roaming each others bodies, true essences mingling where their lips meet, just as they had the night before.They kiss with joyousness, lose themselves in each other and in this freedom now to touch and to love.

They won’t be bothered again.

* * *

_Meanwhile, in a posh office in Heaven…_

“Get me a line to downstairs.Now.”

Gabriel seethes with anger watching the closed circuit TV, picks up the phone when it’s light starts flashing.

“Beelz are you seeing this.”

“Doing my best not to,” says the voice on the other end, “And _don’t_ call me Beelz.”

“They can’t be allowed to do this.”

“It’z not our problem anymore, wank wings!Now lose my number.”

The line goes dead.Gabriel reaches out and shuts off the monitor.


	25. Waxplay - Bookshop Opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale shows his appreciation for Crowley's chocolates and flowers
> 
> Prompt: Waxplay  
> Specific Tags:  
> Waxplay, coming untouched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO, I said I might throw some more in here to make it 31 and I DID. The final true prompt of the list is "Aftercare", which is fitting to end on, so this and the next 5 chapters will be prompts that were not on the initial list!

“Aren’t you so thoughtful, my dear,” Aziraphale coos in Crowley’s ear as he pops another of the chocolates into his mouth.“Such lovely treats you brought me, and such a lovely picture you make.”

All Crowley can do is whine, face pressed to Aziraphale’s thigh.He can’t speak until Aziraphale tells him to, and wouldn’t dare to do so.He nuzzles his face against the soft wool of Aziraphale’s trousers, a small whine escaping his throat and nothing more.Crowley wonders vaguely when he developed a Pavlovian response to Aziraphale enjoying desserts, his erection hard and aching already despite not having been touched.

The bookshop is quiet and the candles glow softly.The shop will open for the first time tomorrow, but for tonight it’s just them in the dim and low light of the early evening.

“I’m so grateful, my dear, for you running those dreadful angels away.As though Michael could handle an Earth assignment.She’s very good, but I don’t think she could… _appreciate_ the finer things Earth has to offer.”There’s a lewd pop as Aziraphale licks the chocolate off one of his fingers, followed by a contemplative hum. 

“And these chocolate, so decadent and wonderful, the things the humans devise.And the flowers as well; I wonder if you understand the language of them?If you don’t, it certainly is a terrible coincidence.”

Crowley, of course, knows _exactly_ what they say.Perfectly picked and arranged by hand this morning; flowers speaking of love and of commitment.He whines again, rubbing his face against Aziraphale’s thigh.Crowley ruts against nothing, hot and trapped as he is, aching for a release of some kind.When did Aziraphale start affecting him this way?He doesn’t even remember.

“Now then, I believe we had a certain thing in mind for tonight, yes?” Aziraphale says as he reaches for one of the candles on the side table.A snap of his fingers and Crowley’s torso is bare.“And what do we say if it’s too much?”

“Eden,” Crowley says in a rush on a cracked voice.

“Very good, darling,” Aziraphale whispers into Crowley’s hair, planting a soft kiss there.Crowley will never admit he preens under this praise, but he does.

Slowly, very slowly, Aziraphale tips the candle.The hot wax stings as it hits his back, but cools quickly in the air of the bookshop.Little pinpricks of heat that only spur his arousal onward, that make him shiver as they roll down his back before they cool and solidify, sticking firm to his skin.

“You look so lovely like this, my only, on your knees letting me paint you like this.”Aziraphale plucks a chocolate from the box, rolls it between his fingers as the wax continues to fall in thin dribbles down Crowley’s back.“Tell me, darling, would you like to try one?”

He watches the chocolate in Aziraphale’s fingers, sees the way it starts to melt, leaving a trail of sweetness along those clever fingers.Crowley’s mouth starts to water and he nods vigorously, suddenly desperate for the taste of it.

“Of course, my darling,” Aziraphale says bringing the truffle to Crowley’s lips.He opens them and lets Aziraphale press the chocolate into his mouth, feeling it melt on his tongue.The velvet texture soft and warm, just like the wax dripping down his back.

Aziraphale’s finger sinks in further, and Crowley wraps his tongue around it, licking the chocolate from his angel’s fingers, tasting both it and Aziraphale’s skin and getting high on the sensation.

“Oh…oh my…” Aziraphale says above him as the muscle in his thigh seizes.Crowley looks up at him through his lashes, watches his eyes close slow and his head fall back, and can’t help but be proud of himself.

Aziraphale loses himself a bit, pistoling his finger in and out of Crowley’s mouth, tipping the wax more haphazardly.No longer thin lines but large globs that make Crowley hiss.The dual sensation, the scent of Aziraphale’s lust in the air, is too much for him.He wants so badly, wants the release.

He comes entirely untouched, making a mess of his trousers, on nothing but chocolate and candlewax.Aziraphale sets the candle aside, strokes his hand lovingly through Crowley’s hair as the evening turns into night.

Tomorrow the bookshop will open, and Aziraphale will welcome his first customers.But tonight, he pulls Crowley into his lap and into his arms, and they are together.


	26. Chains/Cuffs - Bastille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is being entirely too tempting, Aziraphale decides to do something about that.
> 
> Prompt: Chains/Cuffs  
> Specific Tags:  
> Crowley has a Vulva, Chains, Alley sex, mildly angry sex but it's a front they are very much in love, but it is bittersweet so be aware of that.

Crowley stares at him from across the table, not bothering to hide his feelings.Not bothering to be coy in the slightest.Under the table, Aziraphale feels the tip of Crowley’s boot where it lingers against his ankle.A slight twitch, just enough to deny, but not enough for Aziraphale to ignore.

It’s infuriating, Crowley is infuriating.Surely he must know the effect he has?Showing up like this, looking like this; right when Aziraphale needed him most.

Well, it isn’t as though Aziraphale didn’t _expect_ him to show up.

But here Crowley sits, grinning like the cat that got the cream, hand resting on the table far too close to Aziraphale’s own.It’s just a hand, just bones and muscle and sinew.Five fingers, fourteen knuckles, pale skin and long digits.Nothing remarkable, nothing to write home about.Oh but Aziraphale could write poems and sonnets and novels about how he feels for those hands.

“Suppose I should get the check, then?” Crowley asks, a knowing turn to his voice.Aziraphale hates it.Aziraphale loves it.Equal measures of the same blasted emotion.For what is hate if not love circled around onto itself?An ouroboros of the strongest emotions, circling back and around themselves.How very fitting that the ouroboros is a snake.

Crowley gets the check, and they step out into the streets of Paris.A companionable stroll through the city, to any outside observer.But the way Crowley stays a couple of steps ahead, the cut of his trousers and the turn of his heels.He walks slow and deliberate, the boneless saunter driving Aziraphale absolutely up the wall.

It’s entirely too much, especially since Aziraphale knows exactly what Crowley is doing.

Aziraphale grabs Crowley by the sleeve of his coat, yanks him into an alleyway and pins him to the wall there.“Demon, what exactly are you up to?”

“Why, Aziraphale,” Crowley says as his face breaks into a wide smile, “Why on Earth would I be up to something?”He knows that he’s won, knows that Aziraphale is powerless against this, and Aziraphale hates it.Aziraphale loves him.Oh God in Heaven how Aziraphale loves him.

“Foul fiend, tempting me like this, how dare you.”It’s the old line, the one they parrot back and forth when the mood strikes.The three squeezes to his wrist tell him Crowley is willing to play the game today, willing to go along with it.A quick snap of Aziraphale’s fingers, and the shackles from his cell materialize.They attach to the alley wall, the cuffs keeping Crowley’s wrists steady, pulling his arms out to his side just slightly.One swift motion and Aziraphale lifts him, Crowley wraps his legs around Aziraphale’s waist on instinct.

“In a hurry today, angel?”

“Infuriating thing,” Aziraphale snips back at him before kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth to shut him up.Aziraphale keeps one arm wrapped around Crowley’s back, works open the front panel of his own trousers with the other.“Infuriating, gorgeous thing.”He growls these words against Crowley’s neck, biting down hard at the juncture of his shoulder.

“ _Hnn—gah—_ flattery will get you everywhere, angel,” Crowley says, banishing his own trousers with a thought.He’s opted for a cunt today, already shining wet and dripping.“Thought I’d go easy on you today.” Crowley gasps out while straining against the cuffs.

“How thoughtful,” Aziraphale says as he buries himself there, relishing how Crowley writhes and moans on him.He thrusts in hard, with abandon, chasing his release quickly and messily.Crowley’s ankles dig into his back, he can feel them through his layers, and he loves and hates it in equal measure.

Aziraphale reaches between them, rolling his thumb over Crowley’s clit as he fucks him hard and fast.Crowley clenches around him, orgasm washing over him as his head falls back and hits against the brick wall.Aziraphale follows soon after, spilling out inside of Crowley with a shout.

“Foul fiend.”

“Holier-than-thou bastard.”

Aziraphale’s head falls against Crowley’s shoulder, breath heavy and labored.The chains disappear and Crowley’s hands are in his hair immediately, carding and petting through the curls, even as he stays pinned to the wall.

“I want to say it…” Aziraphale whispers into the skin of Crowley’s neck.

“I know, but you can’t.” Crowley whispers back, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Aziraphale’s head.

“Someday, my darling.” Aziraphale lowers Crowley back to the ground carefully.A snap of Crowley’s fingers and they’re both put together again, mess gone and forgotten.As though it never happened.

“Right angel,” Crowley says, eyes full of something Aziraphale wants to call love but can’t.Not yet.“Someday.”


	27. Orgasm Delay - Ineffable Tutors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Cortese takes Mr. Harrison apart bit by bit, slowly and methodically, at his own pace.
> 
> Prompts: Orgasm Delay  
> Specific Tags:  
> Cock rings, orgasm delay, rimming, come eating

Sweat drips from Crowley’s forehead onto the leather of the sofa.He grips the back of it tight, knees sticking to the slick leather seat, muscles burning and knuckles white with the effort of keeping himself together.His whole body is burning, skin hot and flushed.He’s aching for a release that won’t come, the gold circle at the base of his cock making sure of that for him, as Aziraphale slowly takes him apart.

“You’re doing so good for me, darling,” Aziraphale says as he thrusts into him, spilling into Crowley’s body, pressing his face to the back of Crowley’s neck.His beard is scratchy against Crowley’s skin, the sensation heightened by how on edge he is.“You take my cock so well, my love, like you were made for it.”

All Crowley can do is whimper.His erection is near painful, precome dribbling to the leather, a steady stream of it for what feels like hours now.Aziraphale presses scalding kisses to his spine, murmuring words of affection to his skin.Words of praise and love that make Crowley’s heart ache almost as much as his cock.Crowley’s head swims with it, the room spins as Aziraphale kisses his way down his back, hands caressing his sides and stroking down his ribs.Light enough to be maddening, firm enough not to tickle.

He had opened Crowley slowly on his fingers, relishing the time it took to do so.When they started this, it had been the golden hour, bathing the bookshop in an orange glow like fire.Now it’s dark, well past midnight.Aziraphale has been taking his time, savoring Crowley like a fine wine.The ring around his cock making sure that he can’t see completion, keeping him on edge.

Crowley knows his corporation, knows what makes it tick.He could’ve come on Aziraphale’s ministrations at least twice by now.

Aziraphale continues his slow pilgrimage, letting the kiss to Crowley’s tailbone linger as he gently massages Crowley’s arse.“You know, darling, you may not have much of an ass, but it’s just enough for me to get my hands on.I must say I rather like it.Like a tasty peach, perhaps, absolutely delectable.”

He spreads Crowley out and licks a stripe up the inside of Crowley’s thigh, collecting the spend where it’s ran down his leg.Crowley croaks out a gasp on a shaky breath, already beyond overcome, every sensation further heightened by the relief he’s being denied.Aziraphale laves over his hole slowly, cleaning him with his tongue, breaking him apart again.Crowley’s cock feels heavier than ever as he grinds back against Aziraphale’s mouth and that damnable tongue.Aziraphale reaches for him, strokes a light touch over his cock from the overly sensitive tip to the base, and Crowley wants to sob.His touch lingers at the base, on the gold cock ring keeping Crowley on edge.Aziraphale’s tongue thrusts inside of him at the same moment he releases the ring, and Crowley comes with a shout; splattering the leather of the sofa, marking it and staining it, no matter what miracle is used on it.Tears spill down his face at the sudden relief as Aziraphale climbs back up, kissing his way back up Crowley’s spine.He cups Crowley’s chin, well-manicured nails scratching through his short beard as he turns his head, capturing his lips in a kiss.

“You did so well for me, my love,” Aziraphale says as they settle into each other’s arms on the sofa, now miraculously clean.He turns the gold ring in his hands a few times, and it shifts back to it’s usual shape.A crest with wings and a lion, and he slips it back on his little finger.“Was it good for you, darling?Everything you’d hoped for?” 

“Yes, angel,” Crowley says, sinking further into Aziraphale’s embrace, breathing the words rather than saying them, “That was amazing.”

“Don’t get too comfortable, we still have to discuss lesson plans for tomorrow.”

“Nope, nope, don’t think so—“

“ _Crowley—_ “

“Thoroughly worn out, been fucked way too far past that point.We’ll just give him more maths work to do, he likes maths.”

“Regrettably so,” Aziraphale says, kissing Crowley’s forehead.“We’ll discuss it in the morning.”

“Works for me.”Crowley sighs happily and drifts to sleep in his angel’s arms.


	28. Wing Kink - True Forms/South Downs Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley grooms Aziraphale's wings.
> 
> Prompt: Wing Kink  
> Specific Tags:  
> Metaphysical Sex, M Rated on this one, Multiple Eyes

There’s something in this, in the push and the pull.In the slow drag of Crowley’s fingers, soft and steady as they card through the barbs of Aziraphale’s primaries.As he plucks the broken ones out, smoothes the finer ones in place.A rising and a falling.Just like Aziraphale’s breath.Just like Crowley’s breath.Just like the two of them together, here on Earth - an angel falls, a demon rises, and they go on as the world keeps spinning.

There’s an intimacy to letting another being touch one’s wings.An inherent trust, an oft unspoken desire. _Be close to me, take care of me, love me._ They’ve been grooming each other’s wings for centuries.Tentative touches along the scapulars, never sinking too far, never touching skin.

Angels do not touch the skin of each other’s wings, it’s a taboo.Forbidden.Wing grooming on it’s own is meant to be a solo activity, a part of an angel’s uniform.Keep your wings neat and tidy, after all, cleanliness is next to godliness.

For demons, it is unthinkable.Not the least because so many demons no longer have feathers, traded out for bat wings or fly wings or even no wings at all (scales or tentacles, the preferred traits of some).Demons do not trust, do not show your back.It’s hard to catch an unexpected knife when everyone is treated as an enemy.

But Crowley’s hands are gentle, his touch is soft and light.His nails scratch just the right amount into the skin there, near the base of Aziraphale’s wing where it stretches out towards the bay window of their bedroom, toward the ocean, toward the sunshine. 

Aziraphale rolls his shoulders, relishes the contact, relishes his husband’s touch and the sudden coolness of the gold of his ring when it catches his skin.There is a reason angels do not touch like this, and demons, too.Many reasons, as we have noted here.The biggest of this is pleasure. 

The intimacy of the touch, the proximity to ones divine light, the euphoria of trust and love and care and everything that comes with it.Angels are beings of love, beings of emotion.They sense it, clear as any of our human senses.As sight or smell or taste.As Aziraphale’s many eyes blink into being, unable to be contained, the love of his demon washes over him.Scaled yet soft lips kiss the back of his neck, one hand grips the arch of his wing, the other wraps around to hold him tightly as his divine essence rises and rises to the surface.Blue eyes glowing and blinking, flood ethereal light into the room.A clawed and scaled hand, pressed firmly to his chest, directly over his heart.A voice in his ear, a hiss low and full of love… _I will be close to you, I will take care of you, I love you._

The ethereal plane is not for mortals to understand, there are not words to describe the true feelings that Aziraphale feels when Crowley pours love into this ritual.Into this sacrament they take together, this bonding that only they amongst anyone on Earth will know.There is a wave, there is a crest, and there is a break.

There is a cottage.

There is love.

There is a future.


	29. Hands - Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is fixated on Aziraphale's hands
> 
> Prompt: Hands  
> Specific Tags:  
> Hand fixation, Masturbation

Ruby tinted glass.Best thing the Chinese have come up with so far.They’ll come up with even better things, but for now, Crowley will take the ruby tinted glass, it lets him look his fill.

Aziraphale is animated, he talks with his hands.Gestures and waves and touches.Touches Crowley’s shoulder or his wrist or his hand or even his knee, each spot burning in the wake of those hands.

Crowley could spend a million years looking at those hands, would gladly die staring at them.Let them dig through the Earth and the soil and the sediment and bury him, he would thank Aziraphale for it.Would gladly die this death.

Aziraphale’s fingers are short, kind of stubby.His palms are calloused with work; a strength to them of humanity and not of Heaven.He likes to work with the humans, likes to plant the seeds, to stich the blankets, to work with them.Move them over humanities creations, weaving his own blessings into everything those hands touch.

They are not young hands.They could be, if Aziraphale wanted.Could be smooth and soft, those of a younger man.But he chooses this, chooses the veins and the blood that pumps through them, chooses the aging on the knuckles, the lines along the palms and the backs of them.Crowley’s heard murmurs, something with the palm lines.Life lines and heart lines and whatever else humans will come up with later to divine their fates.

If he’s lucky, Aziraphale’s heart line matches his.

Crowley still watches.Watches Aziraphale grip the wine goblet, watches him wipe away the droplets on his lips, watches him tip back and back and back and swallow the oyster down his throat, hard and delicate shell balanced between firm and careful fingers.Aziraphale’s hands are but one part of him, but Crowley could write words to rival the greats on all of it. Virgil, Tibullus, Ovid, who would they be compared to how he feels about this shining angel?

But tonight, in his room, he thinks of those hands.He thinks of sucking honeyed wine off of the fingers, swiping over the callouses with his tongue, tasting the salt on Aziraphale’s skin. He imagines how those hands would feel, wrapped around his wrist or his throat or his cock, bringing him to completion.Crowley’s hands are different; long thin fingers, soft to the touch.They wrap around his cock now, stroking slow, like he thinks Aziraphale might if he were given the chance. 

But his fingers aren’t Aziraphale’s fingers.They don’t feel like Aziraphale’s would feel if he pushed them into Crowley, one and then two, opened him slowly, made him beg.Or perhaps, with a cunt instead, crooking just right inside of him, circling his clit and making him moan for it, wet and wanting and willing to give anything and everything.

Crowley comes on his own hand, Aziraphale’s name on his lips, and tears in his eyes.Spills messy over himself, makes himself a ruin.Rome will join him in the ruins soon enough.Not to the humans, but what do they know of time.

Crowley knows everything about time, knows all about waiting.

He’ll wait forever for those hands and for that angel, as long as it takes.

As he lies on the straw mattress in his room, breath labored and heavy, a realization comes to him with a stunning clarity.Aziraphale’s hands, his lips, his eyes and smile and skin and fluffy blond hair and fussy demeanor and quick wit and _all of it —_ it all adds up to only one conclusion.

He is in love, and he is doomed.


	30. Mirrors - 1970s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale fucks Crowley, Crowley watches in the ceiling mirror.
> 
> Prompt: Mirrors  
> Specific Tags:  
> Mirror Sex, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs

Crowley’s nails leave red marks down Aziraphale’s back as they dig into his skin.The lips on his neck are a firebrand, the stretch of his hole around Aziraphale’s cock is intoxicating, and all of it is made better —oh so much better— by the lovely excess of the 1970s.

Ever on the cutting edge of trends, Crowley had had mirror panelling installed on the ceiling of his bedroom.Good for temptations, good for having a nice view when he masturbates, and right now he is thanking every star he ever made for it.

He wants to close his eyes as Aziraphale’s lips slide over his again, the angel moaning in time with every thrust.He fucks Crowley into the mattress, strong and sturdy arms wrapped around him, holding him close.Wicked tongue —far too wicked for an angel— leaving a wet and sloppy trail over his clavicles, over his neck, up to his ear. 

The sight above Crowley is all he’s ever wanted to see, his thin limbs a stark contrast to Aziraphale’s soft and sturdy ones.The muscles of Aziraphale’s legs roll and ripple as he thrusts into Crowley, the soft curve of his ass bounces. 

“Satan’s sake, angel, you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Aziraphale practically growls, kisses him desperately, dragging his top lip between his teeth, catching his mustache in it.Crowley keens, trying to grind onto Aziraphale’s cock, trying to get some friction on his own where it’s trapped between their stomachs, pillowed in the plush softness of his angel.

Bruising kisses to his throat, his chest, his stomach, as Aziraphale leans back on his calves, repositions him, thrusts impossibly deeper as Crowley cries out on a cracked voice.He’s overwhelmed with love, with adoration and affection, with the slick stretch of Aziraphale’s cock.

Crowley watches in the mirror, gets dizzy at the angles.He can see there, on the ceiling, where they’re joined.Where Aziraphale has sank in to the hilt.Crowley writhes, trying to find some friction, but Aziraphale’s hands hold his hips steady, pressing bruises over the bone of them.Marks for later, for Crowley to touch and feel the sting as he fucks his own fist to the memory of this.

Aziraphale reaches down, trails his finger along Crowley’s rim, smiles at him like the hedonist he is.Crowley watches him do it, upside down in the mirror, and groans. 

“I do believe _you_ are the gorgeous one here, my darling,” Aziraphale says as he wraps his hand around Crowley’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

Crowley stares up, into the mirror, watches Aziraphale fuck and stroke him.Memorizes the way the muscles of his back move, the way his hair looks in the fading twilight from this angle, the look on his face when he tilts his head back, buries himself deep inside of Crowley, and spills into him, never letting up on the rhythm on Crowley’s cock as he does.

The room is spinning, or is that the bed?Crowley can’t remember if he’d gotten one of those yet, thinks they’d be fun, but they have nothing on this.On the vague otherworldliness the imperfections in the glass give to the perfection of Aziraphale’s face.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley cries out his name as he comes, and Aziraphale strokes him through it before collapsing on the bed next to him.They lie there with their legs entwined, the only sound aside from silence that of their heavy breathing slowly coming down to something more calm, something sated.

“Well, that sure was something,” Aziraphale says as he trails a finger through Crowley’s chest hair, idling tracing patterns there.Crowley follows them in the mirror, tries to read them, but can’t.He wonders what they mean, wonders if Aziraphale will ever say them aloud.

“ _Something_ , angel?Angel that was everything.”

Crowley can’t stop staring, can’t break away from the picture that they make.An angel and a demon, pale against black satin sheets, limbs and fate and hearts enjoined all at the same time.This Sistine Chapel of debauchery they’ve made here.

He finally looks away, finds Aziraphale staring back at him, tucked calmly and peacefully under his arm.Crowley leans down and kisses him, because that’s a thing they do now, as of tonight.Because he can, and because he wants to.

Crowley only hopes it’s not the first and the last time.But as Aziraphale snuggles closer, closes his eyes and drifts off, Crowley thinks if it _is_ , this would be enough.


	31. Aftercare - South Downs Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley muses and soaks, Aziraphale takes care of him.
> 
> Prompt: Aftercare  
> Specific Tags:  
> This is just fluff y'all, straight up happy sappy times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT I MADE IT SOMEHOW
> 
> Thank all of you who have been reading along on this journey, I can't believe I did a month of prompt fills and actually finished them xD
> 
> If you like my writing, come and find me on [Tumblr](http://moveslikebucky.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](http://twitter.com/moveslikebucky), or in the [Do It With Style Events](https://discord.gg/amnVAnb) or [Soft Omens](https://discord.gg/QU5krqq) Good Omens discord servers! Come by and say hi, I'd love to meet you xD
> 
> Thank you to everyone who came along with me here; and to my subscribers - finally! your inbox will get a reprieve from me xD because I am very much taking a little break now lol

Crowley sinks further into the warm water, lets his mind ebb and flow, follow the path of the tides on the ocean just outside their window.He relaxes into it, sighing happily, as Aziraphale works lavender and honey scented shampoo into his hair.

It’s been five years since the world didn’t end.Five years of time they had never been promised, of time they never should have had.It flows differently now, this time business.It’s more cherished, more savored.Time spent together in each other’s company, in this little cottage that they built together.A few miracles here and there, yes, but mostly by their own hands.Hammering the nails, mortaring the bricks, making a home.

It’s been five years since the world didn’t end.Five years since Aziraphale had taken his hand on the steps outside of the Ritz.Had whispered with intent. _Take me home, make me yours, stay with me._

Love is a resplendent thing, an emotion that has no real explanation.Humans have an inherent need for closeness and intimacy in some form.For friendship, camaraderie, for knowing that they are special to someone.This was not meant for angels.It was certainly not meant for demons.

But that first night, there in backroom of the bookshop, there had been the taste of champagne on Aziraphale’s lips.Aziraphale’s hands had been gentle as he opened Crowley up slowly.His touch slow and comforting; taking his time, savoring the moments.They had so many to look forward to now.They had made love there on the sofa, delighting in each other, joyous and thrilled and oh so in love, and finally — _finally_ — able to show it. 

Confessions were had, apologies were made, forgiveness given though neither felt it was called for.Every moment, every _second_ of six thousand years had led them to that moment, bright and shining, wrapped up in each other and in the love surrounding the room.

So they moved to the countryside, built themselves a house, exchanged vows that they both already knew the words to.They made love in their bed, made bread in their kitchen, grew plants in their garden and mended books in the library.They spent winters curled up by the fire, spent lovely summer nights under the stars.The first spring they hosted a reception for the young witch and her beau, in the fall they made cider with the apples from their tree.They settled quickly and quietly into an oh-so human life together, a life of unconditional love and understanding.

Dotted through it all, they explored each other.This facet of themselves that they had never had the chance to see; learned the measure of each other’s bodies.The soft rolling hills of Aziraphale’s curves; the sharp hairpin turns of Crowley’s angles.Every inch of each of them, thoroughly loved by the other, in every way imaginable.Such a human expression of emotion for the angel that fell from Heaven to Earth and the demon that rose from Hell to meet him there.

Which would lead them to times like now, when Crowley would be pushed to his limits.When he would put his heart and soul and body in Aziraphale’s hands and trust the angel not to break him; not to destroy him.Demons don’t turn their back on other beings, too ready for the knife to wedge between the vertebrae of their being.But Crowley has always trusted his angel, and Aziraphale has never pushed him further than he can handle.

But this, the afterglow, he lives for this.Aziraphale watches him as he relaxes, stares at him like a treasure.Like he’s caught a glimpse of Crowley from a nearby roof, demanded to know him, to make Crowley his and his alone.There’s a possessiveness to Aziraphale now, a protectiveness.It thrills Crowley to his core, to be wanted and needed and treasured like this.

Aziraphale’s nails scratch along his scalp, working the shampoo in deep, filling the bathroom with the scent of it.He washes Crowley’s arms and legs, presses kisses to the bruises left from their most recent activities.Aziraphale used to heal them, but Crowley likes to see them for a couple of days after.To feel the ache that marks him as Aziraphale’s.Aziraphale washes his chest, kisses him soft and slow as he does.The water seeps into his shirt sleeves where they’re rolled up to his elbows, but he never cares.Crowley loves this, this single minded focus Aziraphale has on him after.On soothing his worries, on calming his mind, on showing him that he is every bit as loved as one demon could possibly be (“Until tomorrow,” Aziraphale will say, “Because tomorrow I will love you even more than I did today.”)

There’s a cup near the claw-foot tub, Aziraphale takes it and carefully rinses Crowley’s hair.Lets the water flow over him, a waterfall down his back and his shoulders.Crowley shivers at the cold air as he rises out of the tub, only to be wrapped in a soft and fluffy blanket (tartan — but all couples make compromises).

Aziraphale carries him back to the bed, lays him down in soft cotton sheets.Kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and his lips.Holds him tight as they breathe, content to exist in this space with each other.

“I love you so much, my darling.”

“I love you too, angel.”


End file.
